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luveline · 3 years

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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universitypenguin · 3 years

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Bucky Barnes is a Traditional Man

- Bucky Barnes is a traditional man in the sense that his woman comes first.

- You have more doors held open for you than you could have imagined before you began dating Bucky.

- Door to buildings, your car door (always!), he even moves one step ahead of you when you walk down the stairs in heels so he could break your fall, just in case.

- James Buchanan Barnes is quite protective of his girlfriend.

- He’s in love with you and it finally allows some of the deeper wounds from Hydra, from the war, and losing Steve to heal.

- His heart was cold and aching before he met you. Now it’s warm and soft.

- Your perspective on the world is something that attracted him to you in the first place. You’re an optimist in a jaded world and vibrant with life in a way he’s not sure he’s even capable of.

- But somehow, being with you helps bridge the gap. He can look in the mirror and not see the Winter Soldier looking back at him. Instead he sees the man from the 1940s who loved to dance and who hoped to win a boxing title.

- You gave him that man back with your care and affection, even before the two of you fell in love. And he feels such a gratitude for that his heart throbs and his eyes glass over when he thinks about it for too long.

- Bucky is a man in love and you’re happier with him than you ever thought was possible to be. Things are so good between you two; easy, light, and sweet.

- Then one night at dinner Bucky forgets his phone. He asks to borrow your to check the score of a baseball game.

- And he accidentally finds an open porn tab. Curious, he turns the screen so no one else can see and watches. His stomach twists. The appetizer from earlier suddenly isn’t sitting so well.

- Choking.

- You watch porn with men choking their women.

- He’s not judging. He’s really not. But he’d been hoping for something he could replicate for you, and this? He can’t. Not in a million years.

- He’s afraid of hurting you.

- He doesn’t say it out loud because it feels like speaking one of his worst fears into existence. He doesn’t want even the words to pass his lips and take root in your imagination.

- You can’t see him like that. Like a monster. Too many others have and there’s enough truth behind the title for him to sleep well at night, despite all his progress. But most of the time, he sleeps well. It’s because of you and he knows it. Your comforting presence allows him to relax.

- He sleeps in bed with you nowadays. He likes how firm your mattress is.

- He struggles through dinner, the video playing through the back of his mind. When you ask him what the score of the game was he can’t figure out what you’re talking about. It’s an awkward moment.

- The thing here, is that Bucky Barnes is a traditional man. His woman comes first. So he’s going to do whatever it takes to please you and he knows it.

- You always come first. Both in the bedroom and out of it. That’s one of his rules. So he’s already forming ideas about how he’s going to accommodate your kink.

- Two weeks later is your anniversary. He gets flowers, takes you to a nice restaurant and when you get home, brings up the thing.

- “I found your porn open when I borrowed your phone. I’m guessing that you like choking, doll?”

- Your cheeks turn bright red. And you stammer.

- “Hey. Don’t be embarrassed. I want to know this stuff. I need to. How can I please you if we don’t talk about it?”

- “Bucky, you don’t have to... I would never ask you...”

- He smiles. He loves that you’re protective of him in your own way. Knowing this has done a lot for his mental well-being. It makes the relationship between you two solid and strong.

- “I want to give you everything you want in bed,” Bucky says.

- “But you already do!”

- That’s true. Too many of your ex-boyfriends were quick and rough without taking the time for foreplay.

- Bucky is an expert at foreplay. He’s able to build the tension until you fall apart for him is an addiction that he feeds as often as he can. Knowing he provides for your needs like no other man before him is a point of pride for him. (Private pride, that is. Even Sam doesn’t know anything about his sex life. Some parts of 1940’s discretion is very much ingrained in him. It’s not shame. He just likes keeping intimacy... intimate.)

- Bucky is slow and sensual in bed, warm and passionate. With him sex really does feel like making love. It was on your first night together that you’d fallen for him and his patient, gentle way of touching you.

- Orgasming had been so easy when you felt worshiped and safe. And it remained that way with him. Later, these feelings heightened your desire for rough sex with your boyfriend. Because sex with Bucky was a place of security for you. He was utterly harmless towards you and in that context, rough sex would be amazing.

- But things between you two are pretty much vanilla.

- He’s always soft with you. Things can be heightened and swirling with passion, but he’s never show even a flash of aggression or force.

- The super soldier serum means he has stamina for days. He can accomplish and position you want to try, even if it involves lifting you for long periods of time. And there’s no question if he’s going to last. Also, his recovery time is so short “round two” sometimes blurs in with round one.

- But he’s careful about using his strength against you, even more so during intimate situations.

- You’re not “breakable” and he knows that. But you’re precious to him and leaving a mark that isn’t from pure passion would wreck his mental health. Permanently. He’d never forgive himself.

- You know this too, which is why you never asked him to choke you.

- “Baby doll. I want to give you your fantasy. Will you let me? Do you want that from me?”

- You do. You really, really want to be choked by him. So you quietly respond, “Yes.”

- Before he starts, you two sit on the couch and he holds you while you tell him about your fantasies. He takes off your heels while you tell him all your darkest desires. And he gives the sore arches of your feet a massage, listening intently.

- One comforting thing for Bucky is that having been a soldier, he knows how to choke someone. He’ll be able to tell if it’s too much for you. He knows how long before it would damage you. There’s some confidence forming that this will be safe and he won’t hurt you.

- It’s nice that for once his violent past is proving helpful in your relationship. He thought agreeing to choke you might rattle him a little, stirring up old emotions, but it’s soothing. He’s enjoying using what he knows to make this experience good for you.

- He lets things get rough when you go to bed. He doesn’t hold back the passion tonight. Instead, he focuses on eating you to orgasm and holding you on the edge until you pull his hair.

- “Bucky! Please!”

- Then he slides two fingers inside of you and draws fast little circles on your g-spot until you break.

- He lets up on your clit but as the orgasm fades, slides in a third finger and pounds the spot until your pussy creams on his hand and your groans are low and raw, filled with ecstasy.

- “That’s it, doll. Just like that. So pretty when you cum for me. Keep going, baby girl. I’m right here.”

- His metal arm wraps around your waist when you arch your back, holding you so he can keep toying with the spot as your hips begin to jerk away.

- When he’s finally done with your g-spot his hand is drenched. So is the sheet and your inner thighs.

- And you’re gasping for breath from the intense orgasm. When it comes on this hard you can’t really tell if it’s one long orgasm or three separate ones that came almost back to back.

- Bucky takes you in his arms, cooing sweet nothings into your ear.

- It helps you calm down when he talks in a soft soothing voice. The man should narrate meditations.

- His voice is silky and smooth for you, yet rough with repressed need. You can hear the need and it feeds your desire.

- “Please, Bucky. I need to feel you inside of me.”

- You find yourself underneath him, with your legs pushed apart and his body selling between them.

- You love feeling the weight of him on top of you.

- Then, he gently opens the petals of your sex and guides himself inside of you.

- There’s a stretch and burn as he enters you, just like there always is. Your body never quite adjusts to his girth. Each time you have to relax for him.

- He knows it’s a challenge to take him at first. He’s always careful and there’s a tube of lubricant in the side table. It’s not always needed but he’s always prepared.

- His hips begin to roll, and he sets a steady pace that pushes the tip of his cock against your spot with each thrust. At first his thrusts are shallow but as you begin to relax around him he goes deeper. His body moves forward to cover you and he starts fucking you hard.

- Each snap of his hips has you keening. Your body is so sensitive from your earlier orgasms. He keeps up the pace steady and constant until you’re begging. Then he reaches out with his metal hand and covers your throat. At this point, your channel clenches around him, almost in orgasm.

- “You wanted my metal hand baby, didn’t you?”

- Yeah. You had. The idea had fueled your fantasies night after night.

- The cool press of metal into your throat makes you moan and tremble.

- Bucky feels the shiver and worry flashes through his eyes. “This okay, doll?”

- “Yes, harder, please!”

- He can feel your body responding and it encourages him to press down, finally choking you the way you’d dreamed of.

- You orgasm almost instantly as he chokes you through your climax.

- Bucky lets go when your fluttering muscles start to ease. Suddenly he’s driving into you hard. He drops his hand from your neck, needing both to balance his weight as he seeks his own pleasure.

- The wild, rough movement is harder than the two of you have ever gone before.

- Because he’s always been afraid of hurting you with his enhanced strength until he was too far gone to think.

- When his orgasm hits, his sight goes white and he jerks against you, pumping his seed into you. Then he collapses.

- You hold him tight, savoring the press of his body and the feeling of his release inside of you.

- “You okay, doll? I wasn’t too rough?”

- “It was perfect.”

- Your hand strokes through his hair as you lay together in the same position for several minutes. Heartbeats pounding, your minds still struggling to return to equilibrium.

- Bucky recovers first. Damn that super soldier serum. It’s not fair that you’re still limp and dazed.

- He slips out of you and rolls over, bringing you with him. Your head finds its cradle in his shoulder and your eyes drift shut.

- Recovery isn’t going to happen for you tonight. You’re just going straight to sleep. You’ve earned it.

- Bucky shifts you onto your side. He gets up and you hear water running in the bathroom before a cool cloth touches between your legs, cleaning you.

- You murmur a thanks, half asleep.

- He comes back to cuddle you into his arms, adjusting the pillows around you before he lays down.

- When you throw a leg over his hip, he draws you closer so that you’re lying almost on top of him.

- “You make such a good pillow of someone with so many hard muscles.”

- Bucky chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

- “I’m glad. Go to sleep, doll. I love you.”

- “I love you too, James.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #drabble #bucky barnes #tfaws bucky #smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #lemon #bullet points #winter solider #winter solider x you

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sanguineterrain · 3 years

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Brooklyn Honey - Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Repost!) Hello, this is for the lovely @wkemeup’s 9k writing challenge. I decided to go with the song prompt “Life in the City” by The Lumineers. It really reminded me of 40s Bucky.

Title: Brooklyn Honey

Summary: Life in the city ain’t always so pretty, but you’ve got Bucky and he’s got you.

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: nah

***

“That’s so not how you do it.”

“Sorry, I must’ve missed the day you wrote the manual on how to put up curtains.”

“You sure did, and I can tell you as an expert, the nails aren’t supposed to resemble a mountain range.”

“Smartass. C’mere.”

Bucky’s palm opened and you took a nail, carefully tapping it into the wall.

“Or is it the skyline you’re going for?”

“You’re pretty mouthy for an assistant.”

“I keep it interesting, doll.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“James Barnes, what on earth are you doing in there?!”

Your eyes went wide and you hurried to scramble off the chair you were standing on. Bucky put a hand on your back, shaking his head.

“Buck—”

“I got it, don’t worry. Keep hammering.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

More knocking, faster and louder this time.

“Coming, Mrs. Anderson!”

Bucky buttoned up his shirt, smoothing his pomade-slicked hair back, and went to answer.

You stepped down from the chair anyway, daring to peek around the corner.

He had his arms up, trying to fill the entire door frame and hide the obnoxiously yellow curtains you probably weren’t supposed to have. Mrs. Anderson, Steve and Bucky’s busybody next door neighbor, was a small, shriveled, old woman with a perpetually pinched face that looked like it had been stored in a jar of formaldehyde for the last twenty years. She kept trying to look over Bucky’s shoulder but he wouldn’t let her, moving when she did.

“—could’ve sworn I heard hammering coming from this apartment.”

“Oh! You must’ve heard me fixing my bike.”

“You don’t have a bike, James.”

“Did I say my bike? I meant Steve’s.”

“Steve rides a bike?”

“Absolutely. Keeps him fit.”

“I don’t recall seeing him ever—”

“Well, bye, Mrs. Anderson! Always a pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

She gave another stern look before shaking her head, walking away.

You sighed as Bucky shut the door with his foot, a too sly smile on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

“I think you might be a worse liar than Steve.”

“Well, ouch, doll.”

“First of all, who’s ever heard of needing a hammer to fix a bike?”

“We can be the first.”

“Next time, I’m answering the door.”

You clambered back onto the chair, returning to knocking in the nails.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted curtains in the first place.”

“It adds a homely touch, doll. Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining about how drab this place is?”

“Of course, but it’s not my apartment.”

“It could be, with how often you’re over,” Bucky said sweetly.

“Keep dreaming, Barnes.”

“I will,” he assured with a smile that could melt butter.

You shook your head and returned to focus on the curtains. True, the first one was beyond help in terms of nail placement, but the least you could do was try and make the next one even.

Bucky had offered at least ten times to do it himself but there was no way he was getting his hands on a hammer after what had happened when he’d tried to install some shelves last winter.

Besides, you were better at decorating when it came down to it. At least, that’s what Bucky kept insisting, letting you do essentially anything you wanted to the apartment.

The chair suddenly groaned under additional weight and you startled as you felt the side of a body press against yours.

“How’s it goin’?”

“Bucky, this chair really isn’t meant for two people.”

“You sure? Seems pretty sturdy to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and you fixed him with a look.

“What? Don’t want you to fall.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Ain’t it?”

He hopped off before you could scold him further, grinning up at you.

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bucky disappeared and returned a minute later with an open bottle for you, holding it so you could sip safely while still perched on the chair.

Then you kept hammering, eyes narrowed as you focused on not hitting anything other than the nail.

Bucky watched from the floor as you did so, leaning back on his hands.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a gentle smile on his face.

“The city.”

***

“Honey, I’m home!”

“What did I say about that, Barnes?”

“You said… you’ll love me for all eternity because you’re as sweet as honey?”

“I think it was more along the lines of, ‘don’t call me honey unless you mean it.’”

“I always mean it, Y/N.”

And that was a little more sincerity than you were willing to explore, so you pointed to the bag instead.

“What’s that?”

Bucky grinned, setting a giant paper sack on the counter.

“Lemons.”

“What?”

“Lemons. You know, the little yellow fruits that make you do this?”

Bucky puckered his mouth and smacked his tongue, eyes screwed shut.

“Lemon’s not a fruit.”

“It sure is! Fruit got seeds. Read that in a book about agriculture. We produce a lot of corn, did you know that?“

“Okay, Bucky, the presiding question still remains: why do you have every lemon in the city?”

“There was a good deal at the docks. Dirt cheap for produce. Some guys told me they were takin’ some home for their wives. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“I’m not your wife.”

Bucky just grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“I don't know who taught you this, but the way to a girl’s heart is not twenty pounds of lemons.”

“Think of all the lemonade we can make.”

“Unless you’ve also got FDR and his cabinet in those bags, we’re gonna have a lot of leftovers.”

“Look at it this way: no vitamin C deficiency. One less thing to worry ‘bout.”

“Bucky.”

“They’re not all lemons, doll. I got other stuff too. Tomatoes, cabbage, snuck some cucumbers, even bananas.”

You sighed, smiling tiredly. This ration was taking its toll on everyone. You knew Bucky was doing his best, had seen the vegetables and thought of you and how much you missed having cucumber salad and tomato sandwiches like you used to.

“Thank you, Bucky, really. I appreciate you.”

You brushed past him to begin preparing the excess vegetables you three wouldn’t eat this week to pickle. Salt and sugar was going to be hard to gather, but you’d manage. You always did.

“Welcome, doll.”

He beamed, eyes full of warmth as he watched you.

“You gonna stay for dinner?”

“I dunno. Seems like Steve’s gettin’ kinda tired of me,” you laughed.

“Never. ‘Sides, even if he was, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope. ‘Cause you stay for me.”

“And where did you get that idea from?”

He shrugged.

“Seemed kinda obvious, doll. You’re smitten, admit it.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got me all figured out. However did you know?”

“I’m a bright fella.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You ain’t saying no…”

“Really, I have to say no? Can’t you tell I only stick around for the great deals you get on produce?”

“But it’s me that gets the great deals, so really, you’re still staying for me.”

Bucky was against the counter now, shoulder to shoulder with you.

You sighed, hand on your hip as you stared at the table.

“What the hell are we going to do with all these lemons?”

“We’ll figure something out. Always do, don’t we?”

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder, aware he was talking about more than the lemons.

“Yeah. We always do.”

***

Steve had been home for a while, wordlessly letting you in when you’d shown up an hour ago. You didn’t have to explain anything to him anymore.

The record player was on, crooning gently. Steve was in the corner, drawing, away from the window after the breeze had whipped his papers around one too many times.

“Can’t believe they’re building another skyscraper down on Lawrence.”

Steve frowned.

“Really? Won’t be able to see the sunset now.”

“Yeah. And Brooklyn’s not exactly known for its scenery to begin with. Saw a rat and a pigeon fighting over a pretzel this morning.”

Steve chuckled from the floor, shaking his head.

“Times are tough. Even for rats and pigeons.”

“Sure are.”

“Nice curtains, by the way. I like the color.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Did Bucky ask—?”

“No,” he answered, smile evident in his voice. “But that’s alright. I know he’s just tryin’ to gauge what you like.”

“What?”

“Yeah, after the war’s over and all, he’s gonna try and buy a nicer place.”

“And he wants my furnishing tips?”

Steve shrugged, gaze soft and knowing.

“Guess so.”

You cleared your throat, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Want some lemonade?”

“Jesus, there’s more? I thought we’d run out of bushels.”

“You’d think, right? I put ‘em in the icebox so they won’t spoil so fast.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

You were in the middle of stirring the pitcher when Bucky came in.

He didn’t greet you or Steve immediately, like he usually did, instead setting down his keys, then slapping the mail onto the table.

“Well, hey there, mister. Fancy a drink? Today’s special is sour lemonade, your favorite.”

Bucky looked up, startled, and glanced at the pitcher before nodding, attempting a half smile.

“Sure, doll. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, Buck?”

He nodded, slipping away to the bathroom with a sigh.

You turned to Steve, who shrugged.

“Long day at the docks, I guess.”

***

June twelfth. That was when Bucky was being shipped out, somewhere in Europe, too far from you. This entire year you’d been holding your breath, hoping, needing the draft to leave him alone.

Now they were taking him away from you in less than a week.

You were in the apartment, lying on the floor, on Bucky’s second to last day. That’s how he found you upon coming home.

“Trying to count all the cracks in the ceiling, doll? You’ll be here all night.”

You had a glass of lemonade by your head, spiked with a bit of rum. It was already warm, because it was summer and things were supposed to be warm in the summer.

The curtains danced in front of the window, yellow like sunshine and all those goddamn lemons in the freezer. The only respite from an otherwise colorless world.

“This city is so ugly.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice. He walked over, crouching by your arm.

“Think so?”

“Yeah. Can’t find a single pretty thing in the city.”

“I can.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. She’s looking at me right now.”

“That was sappy.”

“Yes it was.”

Bucky lay down, rolling onto his side next to you, taking a sip from your glass.

“But I ain’t mean it any less.”

You hummed, closing your eyes.

“Well, for what it’s worth then, I think you’re handsome.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You could hear his proud smile.

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, I’m just surprised to hear it is all.”

“Surprised, huh? I’m certain I ain’t the first one to call you handsome.”

“You’re the only one I wanna hear it from.”

Something fluttered in your chest.

“What d’you say then? You and I, think we can take on a city as ugly as ours?”

He smiled.

“With you, doll?”

“Yeah.”

“With you, of course.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Bucky propped his head up on his elbow. It was quiet again, with only your occasional sighs and his quiet breaths.

“What’re you looking at?” you breathed, opening your eyes.

“You.”

Bucky flicked a drop of lemonade from the tip of your nose.

You turned, now face to face.

And oh, Bucky’s blues. Those had been your color even before the curtains.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurted.

He smiled a little sadly.

“Gonna miss you too, Y/N.”

You pushed your lips together, taking a deep breath.

“You were right, you know.”

“‘Bout what?”

“That day when you brought home all those lemons. You said that I stay for you.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, gaze fond like it always was.

“All those times I stayed for dinner and pretended to know what I was doing putting up those curtains. I stayed for you.”

You wiped your nose quickly, sniffling.

“And I’m gonna keep staying.”

“Yeah? What if the bridge collapses tomorrow?”

“I’ll swim.”

“Even in the winter?”

“I’ll get myself a pair of ice skates.”

“You don’t know how to skate, doll.”

“That’s right. So you better come back safe and teach me.”

Bucky leaned in, nose brushing your cheek. He rolled over and carefully straddled you, holding his weight.

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Now what did we say about that?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched in thought.

“Don’t say it if I don’t mean it?”

You hummed, pulling him closer, arms around his neck. Bucky’s lips were a millimeter from yours, breath fanning over your chin.

“Mm, I think it was something about eternity.”

Bucky was soft, tangy and sweet. His scruff scraped your cheek and your fingers curled into the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He slid his hands under your back and turned so you were on top, head on his chest. You lay like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat, arms strong around you.

Yellow fluttered in the breeze, tacked unevenly onto the wall, catching your eye.

Bucky glanced to the side, chuckling.

“Don’t let Anderson take our curtains away.”

“Of course not. I spent a weekend on those. She’ll have to fight me for ‘em.”

“Good God. Now I gotta worry about you brawling with old ladies and Steve getting into alley fights while I’m gone?”

“Nah. Steve’ll help me.”

“Oh, great.”

You reached up, brushing his jaw with your knuckles.

“Call me honey again.”

“Honey, honey, honey.”

You reached up to get just one last kiss, except it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. It couldn’t be.

“They’re not gonna take you away from me.”

Bucky shook his head, kissing you much slower this time, trying to memorize you before time ran out.

“Never. ‘M gonna think of you and I’ll be back ‘fore we know it.”

You nodded, wishing hard, hoping somebody was listening.

“Then, when I come back,” he whispered, promise riding on the summer air.

“We’re gonna make the best damn lemonade you’ve ever had.”

And maybe this city could take away your sunsets, your tea and jams, even your summer.

But if there was anything that was yours and yours only, it was the lemon pulp on Bucky’s lips and the undissolved sugar on your own, as bitter and pretty as home.

#bucky barnes x reader #1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #kas9kwc #repost for those of you who asked <3

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

#King of Cups #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin fanfic #din Djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fandom

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Mia Deserved Better: An Analysis of RE8's Themes/Symbolism

Foreword: I would like to thank @lepusrufus for posting about both Mia and Miranda, and at one point directly saying that Mia deserved better, which is a large part of what caused me to start examining her role in the canon story. Now, I will say that this post, like some of my previous explorations of Village (such as my attempt to determine Donna's age), will not be the best organized. My ADHD makes such things rather difficult for me. However, I have tried more than usual, and have broken up this "essay" into several distinct sections. Still, I am worried that my thoughts will not be as concise or coherent as they were inside my head.

Under read-more for length and spoilers for RE8: Village.

Introduction:

Village is, inarguably, about parenthood. Is it a horror game? Yes. Is it also science fiction? Also yes. But is it still, at its core, a story, and therefore contains imagery, symbolism, and themes? Yes. Now, you may be wondering what this has to do with Mia deserving better. My proposal is as follows: While Village is overall about parenthood, it is more about motherhood than fatherhood. Furthermore, Mia's background + actions from the previous game tie her story directly with Mother Miranda's, making their potential interactions massively important to the story... and could have served the theme beautifully. The missed potential in her involvement in the story is honestly a little bit absurd.

Now, let's examine each of the Four Lords + their sections, as the beginning of analyzing the game's theme.

Lady Dimitrescu + Castle:

Ah, perhaps the clearest (albeit unimportant) bits of theme within the whole game. We are immediately presented with another parent, with three daughters she loves very, very much. Initially they work as a team to capture Ethan, easily overpowering him. When they do split up, each still has dialogue regarding their family members. Each of the daughters expresses a desire to be like their mother/make their mother proud. Lady Dimitrescu herself gets very upset every time one of her daughters perishes, and delivers some important dialogue about this in her final confrontation with Ethan.

To paraphrase, Lady D says that Ethan has done something unforgiveable, caused damage that can never heal, and deserves to die before his daughter. That last part is interesting, in the sense that Lady D seems to believe that outlasting your own child is a fate so terrible that she would not wish it upon anyone, including the person who killed her daughters.

Throughout her dialogue and actions, Lady D serves as an important figure of a living mother. What do I mean by that? Well, the only other mothers we see in game are Mia and Miranda. The former doesn't show up until almost the end of the game (seeing as the "Mia" at the start is not actually the real Mia), while the latter does not have a living child, and her behavior has (presumably) changed quite a bit since that loss. As Ethan goes through Castle Dimitrescu, he watches (he causes) Lady D to go through what Miranda did all those decades ago. When we see her loss, when we experience her loss, it is something we connect with, even comparing it (as Lady D does) to Ethan's loss of Rose.

For the more visual side of symbolism, we can turn to Lady Dimitrescu herself. She is very tall, is visibly older than the majority of the Village cast, and has a fairly classic (old-school) motherly look. Everything about her reinforces her position as an example of a mother, especially when she's with her daughters and becomes such a strong figure of protection. Her height allows her to seem the caretaker for her children, even though they are scary/intimidating in their own right.

Donna Beneviento + Waterfall House:

Yes, the baby/fetus/monstrosity is part of this. No, it is not the only bit of thematic work in this section of the game.

To begin, you can find out that Donna is officially the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda. Her birth parents are dead, implied to be from especially tragic causes (more than is the norm when it comes to "orphan making"), and she has suffered greatly from it. We see that she has been seemingly neglected by Miranda, and is incredibly isolated. The tragedy of her loss, along with the consequences presented by it, are something to keep in mind further down the road, when we inevitably deal with Ethan's own death.

One of the consequences of the environment Donna was raised in is, arguably, her reliance on Angie. While interpretations of their exact relationship (aka how much control Donna actually has at any given point) vary, the two very clearly have something akin to a mother/daughter vibe. Alternatively an older sister/younger sister sort of thing. This shows in the way that Donna holds/carries Angie, as well as the contrast in their demeanors. Moreso, the fact that Donna gave a part of herself to create Angie is almost enough to make the symbolism nonnegotiable.

We also see that Donna has a strong understanding of family/family dynamics, through the way that she uses her powers to manipulate Ethan. She dissects his connections to Mia and Rose, taunts him with the lengths he's willing to go to save his child, then shows him a grotesque version of parenthood: The aforementioned fetus monster. Does the monster represent Ethan's fears, or Donna's?

What if the monster is how Donna sees herself, in some way, perhaps thinking that it's her fault her parents died? Bit of a stretch, but it's not a keystone of my theory, so I'm just throwing it out there. We could, however, go a step further and ask ourselves if Donna has noticed the way Miranda neglects her, and the fetus monster is how Donna thinks Miranda sees her. A baby, true, but grotesque, so terribly imperfect compared to her "real daughter" (Eva, obvs).

Regardless, the monster presents an ugly side of parenthood. It shows us the blood, the hunger (with the way it repeatedly attempts to swallow Ethan whole), the wailing. If Lady D shows us the love of parenthood, the bond, Donna in turn shows us the hate, the misery. Everything that one must endure to reap the rewards of family.

Lastly, we get one last bit of symbolism with Donna's death: We play a game with Angie. A childhood classic, hide and seek. Ethan chases her down repeatedly, stabbing away, seemingly only hurting the doll. But what happens when he kills Angie? It turns out that he killed Donna. You kill the child, you kill the parent. A reinforcement of the connection that comes with parenthood, along with another notch in Ethan's family-murdering belt (not saying that he's the "true antagonist" or anything, just keeping track for one of my later points).

Moreau + The Reservoir

Let's get the worst possibility out of the way: Moreau, weakest and sickest of the four lords, lives in a reservoir, where he is relatively safe. To defeat him, you have to drain the water, forcing him onto dry(ish) land. Paired with the main ideas of his section (which I will detail after this nightmare), one could theorize that he's meant to represent birth itself. Again, he's safe in his ("womb") water, and becomes vulnerable when he leaves (like a fragile newborn). Kinda gross, in my opinion, and also not a strong enough connection for me to care much about. It was merely an interesting (albeit horrifying) enough thought that I felt it warranted sharing.

Moving on to the big stuff with Moreau: He's a baby. Evidence: Whiny, has difficulty moving around, struggles to adapt to his growth, throws up a bunch, loves his mother very much, cries for his mother when he's in trouble, etc. Although Mother Miranda does not care for him, he clearly cares for her, and plays yet another role of an abandoned child (like Donna). Without Miranda there to protect him, he perishes terribly, crying out for someone who does not care to answer.

Hearing him cry out for Miranda, over and over, only for her to continue ignoring him is a key piece in the build-up to our confrontation between Ethan and Miranda. The game, in many ways, centers around the comparison between the two. In my humble opinion, Mia should have been involved in this comparison, as opposed to supplying the solution to the result of said comparison. Yes, I know that was a lot of words that don't mean much yet, but trust me, I'm getting there.

Heisenberg + The Factory

Ironically, of the four lords, Heisenberg is the most similar to Mother Miranda. In his massive factory, he is alone except for his numerous experiments, the results of decades of playing God. In comparison to Ethan + Mia, Heisenberg represents artificial parentage, or more accurately, the artificial creation of "life". While the others Lords also performed experiments, they used living subjects. Heisenberg instead chose to use corpses, which he then "brought back to life" with cybernetics + his powers, a somewhat futuristic version of Dr. Frankenstein.

Together, Miranda and him show a rotten side of parenthood (whereas Donna + Moreau showed us the uglier side of the children themselves). To put it simply, they are bad parents. They throw their "children"/experiments into the fray, uncaring, using them as pawns for their own greater gain. The most important part of this is that Heisenberg offers to "help" Ethan: By using Rose as a weapon. In his act of refusal, Ethan demonstrates one of several important distinctions between himself and Mother Miranda. Where she is willing to use her "children" (read: lives that she is responsible for) as tools, he is not.

Miscellaneous Symbolism/Imagery:

The old hag is one of my favorite parts of Village. She's seemingly nuts, has a crazy old lady laugh, wears bones that make soothing bone noises when she moves, and she draws lots of symbols in the dirt. If you look closely (I can provide screenshots if anyone desires, but it will take a bit of work to get them onto my computer), she's drawing one of the most iconic images in the titular village: The winged unborn. This symbol acts as the key you build up after every fight with a Lord, understandably called the Unborn Key (which turns into the Winged Unborn Key). Whether this counts as foreshadowing towards the hag's identity reveal is technically irrelevant, but I like to think it does.

In essence, you build up the key, this depiction of an infant, to progress in the game. The more wings it gains, the closer you are to your goal of rescuing your child.

The cadou itself is very clearly fetus-shaped. Furthermore, the only place within the human body that we know it ever gets implanted is in the "tummy" (thanks Moreau), aka roughly where someone's womb is/would be. Every infected person we see presumably had the Cadou implanted there (though I think it would be interesting if implanting it in different spots caused different mutations. of course, that is a discussion for another day). To become immortal, you have to "bear" a "child". Does it get more direct than that?

Mother Miranda gained her immortality in part for her grief at the loss of her child. She embodied the despair that Lady D spoke of, becoming an eternal source of anguish. Just as the loss of a child is a wound that lasts forever, so too would Miranda last forever (well, until Ethan comes along).

Mia is a loving mother, who puts up with the BSAA making her move across the world, deals with the complications of having a mold husband and mold baby, and has proved herself (see her section in RE7) to be an immense badass. Previously I had forgotten that, and even embarrassed myself in the comments of another person's post by implying she wasn't a tough, ass-kicking machine. Y'all remember feral Mia? People talk about "poor Ethan's arms", but sometimes we forget that Mia was one of the people who did a number on them. Furthermore, she's one of the only living people (from outside the village) to have any connections (pun intended) to Mother Miranda. They worked together, although possibly not directly, on Evelyn. If anyone in Village has a chance of really understanding Miranda's plight, or knowing the truth behind it, it would be Mia. Yet we don't see them interact a single time. Which leads me to the next section...

Conclusion On Theme + Missed Potential:

Okay, okay, so it's pretty obvious at this point that, as previously stated, the game's theme is parenthood. Every section has its symbolism, the story is very obviously about a man trying to rescue his daughter, etc, etc, but what's the point? Is there a lesson, or a more focused interpretation of the central theme? Let's take one last step back, and focus on something I've mentioned a few times now: The comparison between Ethan and Mother Miranda.

Recurring dialogue from Ethan, Alcina, and Mother Miranda all point towards the developers acknowledging that the characters are similar, but there's nowhere near as much conversation about it as I would like. Several times we have the antagonists ask Ethan how he's so willing to kill someone else's child, or prevent them from (essentially) doing what he's doing (aka saving his daughter). While Ethan responds with a mix of "well you started it" and "aghhh fuck-a-you, bitch", there's a much more solid, unspoken difference: Mother Miranda sends her underlings to kill, so that she may revive her daughter. Ethan kills (read: does the work himself) to get his daughter. The difference is much bigger, and more important, at the end of the game, when we realize just how far it goes. Ethan dies to save his daughter. Time and time again Mother Miranda has killed others for her work, but in the end she is stopped when someone willingly dies to stop her.

Where does Mia come in? Mia, the badass mother, the one who once worked alongside Mother Miranda, should have been the nail in the coffin. She is the one who survives, who lives on to raise Rose, she is the silent solution to Ethan's sacrifice. Miranda, you fool, what could you have accomplished if you had held onto your makeshift family? Through Mia (and Chris, to a lesser degree), his "loss" becomes a victory. There's a certain poetic justice that comes with Rose's full family being instrumental in saving her, when Miranda so readily spurned her own family.

Mia could have had an actual conversation with Miranda, their history giving the latter a reason to actually listen. I'm not saying that Miranda would have changed her mind/plans, but the conversation would have been a well-needed contrast to Ethan's "arggg what the fuck is happening, I only have two reactions to things. agg fuck you". Additionally, I feel that Mia (who was captured and had to endure who-knows-what) deserves the opportunity to be the one who points out Miranda's mistakes, who delivers the final "fuck you" to her. More than that, she's the one at the end who can say that hey, maybe she can understand some of what Miranda did. Was there anything her and Ethan wouldn't have done to save Rose? As much as Ethan is a foil to Miranda, Mia could (and should) have played a similar role.

When so much of the story and symbolism revolves around Miranda's experience as a mother, it only would have been fair to shine a light on her equivalent. Her better.

There's more I wanted to say/feel like I didn't properly get across, and I might add more to this at some point, but it's 5:40 AM right now, and I'm starting to feel like my brain is slowing down, so... Feel free to reblog/comment and add your own thoughts!

#mother miranda #mia winters #ethan winters #rosemary winters #resident evil: village #re8 village #god what do I tag this as

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chrichri-chan-18-love · 3 years

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For you (Yandere Harem x Reader)

OUR YANDERES FOR THIS HAREM:

ILLUMI (HUNTER X HUNTER)

CHROLLO (HUNTER X HUNTER)

IZAYA (DURARARA)

LIGHT (DEATH NOTE)

DAZAI (BUNGO STRAY DOGS)

You... you were one of the most unlucky creatures you’ve ever known. You had once been a strong and proud yokai. The lengedary nine tail fox, descendant of one of the most noble bloodlines among your kind. One day, a shinigami asked for your assistance, claiming that a “friend” of his, needed a much stronger ally.

Light Yagami, a child that was arrogant and saw himself as a just and noble person. You disguised yourself as a normal human girl and gave him a good lecture about that little fantasy about his, when he threatened to write your name in the Death Note, you revealed yourself and told him off.

“If you think that this little notebook can help you become a god, you are mistaken. You are a human that will live and die, then whatever legacy you think you can create,will be forgotten with time.”

Your words had an impact on him, you however, had an even bigger one. He became obsessed, coming to you for advice, talking to you for hours and trying to charm you. However you knew better, you never allowed him to know anything but the bare minimum about your kind and abilities.

When Light became too invasive, you didn’t hesitate to use an old techinque to cross dimensions. The only good thing about Japan was that no matter how many universes there were, with all the crazy abilities and people, yokai still existed. That’s why you could cross over... the world you entered was weird, yet you paid it little attention, you became friends with a mortal teenage girl named Honoka, the two of you got into a lot of mischief...but one day, she began acting like a mindless puppet... and it wasn’t long before you figured out why.

That made you cross paths with Illumi Zoldyck.The two of you met after you stopped his needles easily and rescued his little brother from another yokai that had come after you, growing closer after a while and becoming friends with him and Gon. Illumi was intrigued with you and after your meeting, which resulted in a fight that ended as a draw, decided to investigate more about the nine tail fox. Seeing as having by Killua’s side was beneficial for both Killua and him.

However after three weeks, you gained the attention of another man, Chrollo Lucilfer. He watched in awe as you revealed yourself during a fight over an ancient relic that originally belonged to your kind.Chrollo studied you with fascination, obsessing over the unknown that you represented, his calm behavior never betrayed a thing about this... but he wanted to have you, keep you to himself and learn everything about you.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Illumi tried to control you but he failed again and again... and seeing as you were able to fight him without any problem, he slowly began to fancy you, even thinking of marrying you...Killua liked you and you were strong, you were mysterious yet welcoming to those you deemed worthy of your trust. Viscious to your enemies, never hesitating in battle. He... liked that.

The two didn’t meet until you revealed to Gon and Killua that you planned to leave. You had sense Light entering this realm, probably with the help of another yokai. You gave them a parting gift, the fangs of your childhood years. They carried some of your power and thus they would be protected, you also asked them to give a small hairpin to Honoka and tell her how thankfull you were to have her as a friend.

Just in time too, because Illumi, Chrollo and Light appeared and preapred to subdue you. Using your power, you once again crossed dimensions without noticing that the three males had entered the portal too, this time ending up in a dimension you had been during your childhood... you recalled that there had been one boy that had tried to mess with you... his name was.. Osamu Dazai...he was quite weird, always talking about suicide and how wonderfull it would be if you and him could die together. He... creeped you out back then and he still did, the second he saw you he wrapped his arms around you, talking about how pretty you had become, how much he missed you and how you two could die together after years of seperation....you literally pushed him aside and went to the nearest shrine dedicated to a foc spirit to settle down. Dazai didn’t leave your side, becoming a pest as he told you of his life, of his filled with bloodshed and war... being overly dramatic about it too.

“You haven’t changed a bit. I swear, if I had thought it a bit more I would have stayed back to deal with Light or Chrollo and Illumi.”

“ Light... Chrollo.... Illumi... huh?” Dazai said, his tone dropping as he looked at you seriously... you felt a chill run down your spine, yeah, that was the reason you had left from this dimension, this... tone, that gaze and that possessive aura... oh, it was making you feel sick.

“Well,well. Look at what I found.” A new voice said, turning around you saw a man looking at you two with a smirk.

“Oh great! Now who are you, exactly?” You asked and he came closer, Dazai became stiff at the sight.

“Izaya Orihara, at your service, my cute little fox girl”

You scoffed at that, another weirdo... wonderfull.

“Another mortal with a problematic attitude, at this point I might even call myself cursed.” You said, turning around and leaving the two alone.

“Stay away from her, Izaya. I’ve long since taken my rightfull place in her life.”

“Aww, now that’s just rude. I’ve been watching you two from afar for a very long time. I wanted to get along with her too, you know. She is so cute when she’s mad, sad or excited about something.”

“So, you’re a stalker? I’m shocked...not.”

“You’re no better Dazai, my friend. I know that you’ve been after her for a very long time and that you’ve done the same things as I, if not even more.”

“What do you want, Izaya?”

“Let’s become partners in crime! See if those three males she spoke of are anything special. If they are, I am not against sharing.”

Dazai thought this over before eventually agreeing, if the men you spoke of were strong, then sharing would be the only thing left to do... and not even a day later, all five of them met, they exchanged information and formed a plan to get you.

You never stood a chance against all of them.

They sealed the majority of your power through a contact made with blood. Thus making you something of a guardian spirit... you were tricked by them and you payed the price by becoming their precious servant.

Izaya, Dazai and Chrollo didn’t mind spoiling you and letting you go out, with the condition that you behaved and did everything they wanted. Illumi and Light weren’t really into that, prefering to isolate you and slowly break you into accepting them, Light wanted you to love him and Illumi wanted to ensure that he would always be in your heart, that his memory would live on with you even after he was long gone.

Honestly... you really did believe that you were the most unlucky creature, anyone in your place would think so... but you hoped, begged that one of them would die sooner rather than later... especially when one of them talked about a baby born from a human and a yokai, you couldn’t remember who it had been... but the idea spread like wildfire...

Once they were all dead, once they died... you would be free... you just had to hold on... you just needed to wait, even if you suffered, hope still remained in you.

Untill then,you had no choice but to listen to what them... to become a doll meant to make them happy.

Really, you were just unlucky... because you might fall for one of them as the years pass by... and then... then you’d probably join them in death... because they clearly didn’t plan on ever letting you go.

#yandere #possessive yandere #illumi zoldyck #chrollo lucilfer #light yagami #izaya orihara #dazai osamu #fanfic #hunter x hunter #Death Note #durarara #bungo stray dogs #jealous yandere #yokai reader #female reader #david harewood #yandere harem

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wicked-mind · 3 years

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Remember Me: Chapter Three

Summary: Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones? Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Mentions of drugging and sexual assault. Small bit of violence.

Series Masterlist

All Writings Masterlist

*gifs not mine

Chapter Three - Hunger

Bucky had been awake most of the night watching Y/N sleep soundly on his lap but eventually his tiredness took over and he fell asleep himself. When he opened his eyes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, he immediately looked down to see Y/N not there anymore. There was a small bubble of panic as he got up quickly, walking to the kitchen to see Peggy with a mug of coffee. Without a word, she pointed to the front door with a smile to let him know where Y/N was. Bucky gave a soft smile of thankfulness before making his way to the front door, opening it as his eyes fell on Y/N’s back as she sat on the porch steps. He froze in that moment, listening her hum the tune to their song. Was she remembering bits and pieces? He slowly moved to sit next to to her.

Y/N stopped humming when she noticed Bucky sit by her, looking at him quickly. She had a banana on her lap with a cut through it and was practicing sutures on it with tweezers in her hands that held the needle and thread, “Good morning, sleepy head.” She said with a smile towards him before returning her focus on her practice sutures, “You ever wake up with a song in your head that feels like it’s your favorite song but can’t remember it? Because I cannot get this song out of my head and I can’t look it up because I don’t know the words, just the tune.”

Bucky smiled over at her, watching as she threaded the needle through the peel of the banana and suture the peel back together with black thread, “Everyday darlin’,” He told her. Their song had been stuck in his head on repeat since the night they found it. It was one of his favorite memories. Y/N had snuck out with him and they went to a field on his dirt bike. He had brought a blanket so they could watch the stars together while the little radio he had played music. He kissed her for the first time to the song Hunger by Ross Copperman. It had been stuck in his head from that moment on, like a theme song to their relationship, “Is the banana going to make it?”

Y/N giggled a little bit, “I think so. I’m a very good surgeon.” She told him as she tied a knot onto the last suture and put the tweezers down in her lap as well, “There. He should live a long life of 24 hours before he turns to mush.” She looked back at him, running her eyes along his facial features. She had never seen a smile so sincere that she could remember, “I’m practicing so eventually I can go back to work at the hospital. From what Steve says, I have a very good reputation there as their old trauma surgeon and they’d be happy to have me back. Plus I still have all my memories when it comes to medicine and surgical procedures which should help.”

“That’s great.” Bucky told her, happy that she was still pursuing the thing she had dreamed about since she graduated. Y/N was still her, even without her memories. He couldn’t help but wish the things she remembered were him and the love they had between them. It was an epic love and Bucky wanted that back, “I should probably head home and change into some clean clothes. I’ll be back later to replace the fan in your room so you can sleep soundly.”

Y/N looked at him, observing him as he spoke. She could see something in his eyes that didn’t want to leave. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to leave her. She bit her lip, “I was actually thinking, since we were so close before, maybe seeing your place would bring back some memories. Plus Peggy already said they didn’t have anything for breakfast.” She smiled at him, “Do you have breakfast supplies? I can cook while you change and stuff.”

Bucky grinned at her idea, it was just what he wanted. Her to come home with him, “Sounds like a plan, doll.” He told her, knowing he had supplies for her favorite food already. He had gone to the store as soon as he heard she was coming home, buying all her favorite things to eat in case she remembered him and came back home, “You think you remember how to make blueberry pancakes?”

Y/N scrunched her nose as if trying to think of the steps on how to cook, “Nope.” She said with a large pucker of her lips on the sound of the ‘p,’ “But I’m a surgeon. I can figure out how to make pancakes… probably.” She said with a small laugh before licking her lips and staring at him, “Does this mean you’re taking me home on your motorcycle?”

Bucky stood and smiled down at her, “Oh no, I still think you need some more time after I found you walking down the street in the middle of the night. I just live a street down, we can walk it isn’t far.” As much as he would like to take her home on his bike, he didn’t want to rush things with her and knew Steve wouldn’t be too keen on the idea.

Y/N nodded, a little sad she wasn’t going to be able to remember the feeling Bucky had told her about when she rode with him but was happy to adventure out of the four walls of Steve’s home. She stood by him for a moment before opening the door and telling Peggy she was going with Bucky and she was alright before turning back to the dark haired man, “Lead the way, Bucky.” She told him with a smile and a wave of her hand, following as he walked, “I’m curious, tell me more about this girl you loved.”

Bucky looked at her as he walked down the sidewalk beside her, “Love.” He corrected, “I still love her and I always will.” He stared at her for a moment as if waiting for her to say it back before connoting, “We were a very unlikely match, total opposites. I already told you she was smart, I have no idea how she fell in love with me. I was a mess, always getting in fights and causing trouble. When she came into my life, she was like the little angel that appeared on my shoulder that helped me choose the right path to go down.” He smiled at the memories, “But she always told me I was the one that made her feel truly alive, like the world was brighter and made sense. She calmed my wild soul and I brought out the wild in her’s.” He had rambled on the whole time they walked, not being able to stop himself until they were in his driveway, “Home, sweet, home.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Bucky talk about the woman he loved. It was obvious he was still completely and undeniably in love with her. She looked at the house, taking in its features when they stopped, “It’s a pretty house.” She complimented before following him inside. She watched Bucky hurry and pick up a shoe box on the coffee table, taking it into what she assumed was his bedroom. Curiosity sparked in her as it seemed like Bucky didn’t want her to see it and that made her want to know more but wouldn’t pry. She went to the kitchen, “Okay… Pancakes..” She said to herself as she closed her eyes tightly trying to remember the ingredients. When she opened them, Bucky was already pulling out all the ingredients with a smile on his lips, “Thank you. I’ll try not the screw it up.”

Bucky watched her scan over the ingredients and when he saw she didn’t remember where to start, he pulled out a notebook. Y/N always wrote down the recipes she loved. It helped Bucky cook a few meals for her when she got home from working at the hospital, “Here’s the recipe. You got this.” He encouraged, “I’m going to take a quick shower. Try not to burn the house down.” He said as he started walking out of the kitchen and down a hallway towards the bathroom.

Y/N watched him go before scanning her eyes over the recipe. She tilted her head as she recognized it as her own hand writing. She bit her lip lost in thought for a moment, trying to put puzzle pieces together. She finally snapped out of it and looked at the ingredients nodding to herself, “Alright, Y/N. You know how to do a double lung transplant. You can make blueberry pancakes.” She encouraged herself. She wondered around the kitchen, finding pans and utensils to help and started the mission of making breakfast.

Bucky came out to find Y/N flipping pancakes with extreme focus on her face as if it was a life or death situation which made him smile. He wore dark jeans with a short sleeved black shirt that showed off his tattooed left arm. He walked into the kitchen, gently taking the spatula from Y/N who looked grateful that he was taking over, “They look delicious. I’ll finish up.” He told her, adding the blueberries and flipping the pancakes.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief when Bucky took over, stepping back and hoping up onto the counter as she watched him closely, observing every move he made while he cooked. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, something about him drew her towards him. She ran her eyes up and down his figure, biting her lip as she took in every part of him. Y/N was very observant and when she saw the small red heart tattoos between the rest of his ink, her eyes narrowed. She recognized them as her own which made her curiosity grow. When she first woke up after having the bullet removed, the doctors had her draw shapes and write her name to make sure she still had the ability to write and those hearts looked exactly like the ones she had drawn.

Bucky turned to look at Y/N, seeing her looking at his tattoos. He wondered if it was sparking anything to remember him. He held two plates of pancakes in his hands which he set down on the table gently before pulling out the syrup and pulling out a chair for Y/N, “Breakfast is served.”

Y/N took a seat in the chair Bucky pulled out for her, “Thank you.” She said with a smile towards him, picking up the syrup and slathering enough on to cause a toothache, but she always had a sweet tooth. She licked her lips slightly at the view before digging in.

Bucky kept his promise to Y/N, replacing the fan in her bedroom with a small chandelier which made her smile when it sparkled in the light. Y/N got to know Bucky better. He was over everyday entertaining her but as much as she brought up the idea of Bucky taking her on a ride, he would deny it and his reason was that Steve wouldn’t like it. Y/N was smart and everyday she spent with Bucky and listened to him talk about the girl he once loved, the puzzle pieces slowly started to be put together in her mind. She had a feeling by the way he talked and spoke to her that she may be this mystery woman that he had broken the heart of but she wouldn’t know unless she asked. One day at dinner with Steve and Peggy, Y/N finally built up the courage to confront her brother on her thoughts, “Stevie, did Bucky and I use to date?” She said out of the blue.

Peggy and Steve both almost choked on their food at the question, sharing a look. Steve looked at Y/N trying to keep a straight face, “What.. Why would you ask that?” Y/N bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at their reaction. She was pretty sure she was given her answer by the way they choked on their food. Or she was dead wrong and they couldn’t believe her question, “Just some things I’ve noticed. He has a recipe book in my handwriting at his house and the heart tattoos look like hearts I draw.” She said, giving him a short list instead of talking about the way Bucky looks and speaks to her. The way he made her feel.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find a good answer so looked to Peggy with pleading eyes for help.

Peggy looked at Steve then smiled gently at Y/N, “You should talk to Bucky about that, honey.” She said simply.

Y/N frowned a little at them, her eyes flickering between the two, “Why can’t you just tell me?”

They both stayed silent for a moment as if trying to think of a good answer, glancing at each other and their food trying to avoid eye contact with Y/N who was staring at them intently.

Y/N rolls her eyes and sighs, standing up, “I’m not going to break.” She told them with bitterness in her voice before walking towards the front door. She grabbed her small backpack and a jacket, pulling it over her figure and opening the front door, “Don’t report me as missing person!” She called back before exiting the home. She walked down the street, muttering words under her breath in frustration towards her brother. Why couldn’t he just answer the question? It bothered her and she wanted answers about who she was and who she was to Bucky. Y/N found herself walking into a bar, smiling slightly when she saw someone she recognized sitting at the bar from the BBQ, Sam. Y/N hoped up on the stool next to him, “Hi. Sam, right?”

Sam looked at her, holding a bottle of beer in his hands, “Y/N! Yeah, Sam.” he smiled at her. He had known her for a few years, he was one of Steve’s army friends, “Whatcha doin here?”

Y/N shrugs, “Brothers being annoying. Needed to get away for a little bit. Do you know what kind of alcohol I like?” She asks with a tilt of her head. She remembered she has drank before but couldn’t remember what she enjoyed.

“Tequila. Lots of tequila.” Sam remembered with a small laugh, “You said it got you through your surgical internship.” He waved his hand at the bartender, “Can we get a tequila shot?” To which the bartender nodded and placed it in front of Y/N with a lime.

Y/N narrows her eyes at the liquid in the shot glass in front of her with a lime resting on the top, “Okay, so lime first or second?”

Sam chuckled, picking up the lime and putting it on his napkin, “You don’t like the lime.” He reminded before watching her take the shot and her nose crinkle, “Just like old times.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose at the sting then let out a small laugh, “Yup. That is definitely something I would fall in love with.” She looked away from Sam as another man sat next to her with a smile. She didn’t recognize him but from the look on his face it seemed like he knew her from how comfortable he was to come up to her.

“Hey, pretty girl.” The short haired dark man said to her. He had a sharp jaw that matched his sharp cheek bones with some stubble for a beard, “It’s been a while.”

Y/N bit her lip at the new man, “I’m sorry… I don’t remember who you are.” She told him, “I lost my memories on deployment from an injury so you’re going to have to reintroduce yourself.” She added quickly as to not hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles at her before holding out his hand, “Brock Rumlow. We used to hang out, or at least you came to one of my parties when we were younger. It was fun.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in thought, “Nope, sorry don’t remember. But it’s nice to meet you again.” She smiled at him. She hadn’t noticed Sam glaring at the man and didn’t notice when he got up and walked away to make a call.

Sam stood away from as many people as he could, dialing a number on his phone and pressing it to his ear as he watched Y/N talk to Brock who was buying her another shot of tequila, “Hey, Buck. It’s Sam…. I’m at the Howlin’ Cammandos bar with Y/N…. She said her brother was being annoying and wound up here, I don’t know man. Listen, Rumlow just came over and reintroduced himself to her…. Yes, Brock Rumlow the one you and Steve told me about…. He’s buying her shot after shot… Alright, I’ll stay close to her..” He hung up the phone, shaking his head before returning to his spot beside Y/N, listening to Brock put all the moves on her while she laughed like it was the first time she had heard his cheesy pick-up lines which Sam determined was because she couldn’t remember hearing them before.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to walk through the doors, immediately grabbing Brock by his shoulder to turn him around before landing a hard punch straight to his nose. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the bar, “I told you to never come near her again!” He growled out at Brock before landing a punch to Brock’s cheek followed by another. He wasn��t holding back, he was putting everything he had into every punch.

Y/N jumped a little at the sight, her jaw falling open as she watched Bucky punch Brock. She looked at Sam as if it say ‘help’ and watched as Sam got up and separated the two, pushing Brock out the door telling him to get out of here. Y/N looked at Bucky once Sam had gotten rid of Brock, “What the hell, Bucky?” She said to him.

Bucky turned his angry stare to Y/N after watching Sam drag Brock out the doors, “C’mon. I’m taking you home.” He said, grabbing her hand and pulling her outside. Sam was standing out there, watching as Brock’s car pulled out onto the street before heading back inside with a nod towards Bucky. Bucky kept pulling Y/N towards his motorcycle, passing her a helmet, “Put it on.”

Y/N held the helmet in her hands for a moment before setting it down on the seat of his Harley, “No. Not until you tell me what that was all about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, picking up the helmet again and holding it out to her, “Put it on, Y/N. I’m taking you home.” He said again in a more stern voice.

Y/N folded her arms instead of taking the helmet, frowning at him. She was already irritated at Steve and now she felt like she was being babysat by Bucky, “Talk or I walk.”

Bucky stared at her, knowing that look. She was stubborn and she would walk away from him if he didn’t spill what he knew, “Fine, Y/N. When you were eighteen you went to a party at Brock’s house because we got in a fight. You thought he slipped something in your drink and called me right away. I got there just in time to find his hands all over you in his bedroom while you were passed out but it hadn’t gone any further than him copping a feel. I told him if he ever came near you again, I’d kill him.” He sighs, “Now you’re back with no memories and he would’ve taken advantage of that. He’s not a good person, Y/N.”

Y/N looked suddenly saddened as Bucky spoke, her lips parting a little in shock. That was something she rather not remember and was partly grateful she wouldn’t have that memory living inside her brain. She looked down, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She apologized. She sighed deeply before dropping her hands to her sides, “I asked Steve something tonight and he wouldn’t answer me. Peggy said I should talk to you about it.”

Bucky’s couldn’t help but frown as Y/N looked sad, that was something he didn’t want her to remember. It was an awful memory for both of them and Bucky had never felt such rage when he saw Brock’s hands all over her. He had beaten Brock to a pulp, almost unrecognizable and he would’ve again tonight if Sam wasn’t there to stop him, “What is it, doll?” He asks in a gentle tone, knowing whatever she had asked Steve was bothering her.

Y/N ran her tongue along her lips for a moment, not daring to look at Bucky. She wanted to know and she felt like she already knew the answer from all the hints Bucky had given her. Half of her didn’t want to ask but the tequila was giving her courage and the need to know was overwhelming, “Am I the girl you talk about? The one you still love?”

#bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes series #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Doll Me Up (P.11, Final)

Title: Doll Me Up (Part Eleven, Final) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Tony Stark. On good days, you and Tony were a power couple. You, a perfect trophy wife with your hands in local charities to promote a wholesome image. Tony, business man but sullied with organized crime. He indulged in his illegal gambling, extortion, and political corruption. And he indulged in his escort business. Hell, that is where he had found you. You were a brat, and he loved a challenge. Words: 1,892 Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, smut, daddy kink, dom/sub, manipulation, death, violence, possessive behavior, drug use

Part Ten || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

~2 weeks later…

“Come now, drink up,” Tony said, gesturing impatiently since he was needing to leave to go to a meeting bright and early, and you picked up the glass warily.

He had made you a smoothie out of hemp, cucumber, avocado, kale, ginger, grapes, and coconut milk. You had watched him adding each ingredient feeling more and more anxious. You just wanted an egg and bacon sandwich.

You grimaced as you swallowed it. You whined, “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, I don’t either but it’s good for us, kitten,” Tony said, grabbing his own glass and taking a swig. He barely held back a face. “I’ve gotta be tip top shape for you and the baby. And you gotta be tip top shape for baby Stark.”

Scowling, you stared down at your glass, muttering, “I don’t like you calling it that.”

“I don’t like you calling it… it.”

“Well, we don’t know the sex yet, so what do you want me to say?”

“Baby Stark,” Tony quipped, taking another drink. He eyed your glass, nodding, telling you to do the same.

You took another long drink and swallowed it with difficulty. “It sounds too close to that annoying ass song.” Tony cocked his head in confusion, and you said, “I won’t subject you to it. Or myself to it. Again. Once was enough. I’m glad we are past the age – hopefully – that abomination is in vogue.”

“Well, now you’ve got me curious,” Tony said, pulling out his phone.

“Please, don’t,” you begged and then thought quick to threaten, “I won’t finish this if you do.”

Tony pointed at you and said, “That’s not fair. That’s for baby… the baby. This is for me and you can handle it.” Your jaw set and put the glass down, staring defiantly back at him. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not breaking eye contact. “You hate it that much?”

“Yes.”

Rolling his eyes, he placed his phone back down and picked his glass back up, taking another drink. At his relent, you did the same. Tony finished his and sucked his teeth before rinsing his glass in the sink. You forced yourself to finish as well and placed the glass back down on the counter. Tony grabbed it from you and rinsed yours as well.

He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss, “I’ll listen to it at work.”

“I am telling you, you shouldn’t subject yourself to it,” you replied.

“Digging my own grave then,” Tony joked before giving you another kiss, longer this time. He tapped your nose and said, “Do your laps in the pool, princess. Don’t forget. Doctor said that would help aches and loosening your muscles.” You nodded in response and he smiled, his hand coming to rest on your abdomen for a second before he moved past you to go to the garage and leave.

<><><>

~2.5 months later… (5.5 months along)

Tony had you on your knees on the bed, your fingers spread, digging into the bed, bracing yourself. He ran his hands up your sides as he kept a steady pace. He was being gentler than usual, and you were thankful, loving the intimate contact. His touch was sensual and loving. The further you got along, the more he was relaxing on the rough sex.

The two of you ended up on your sides, Tony holding you close this chest as you came down.

He laid a kiss on your cheek, still panting softly from the exertion considering he had done most of the work.

His hand slid down to your abdomen, caressing your ever growing bump gently.

“Look at how perfect and strong you are, kitten,” he murmured. He turned your head towards him and kissed you slow and deep. “A superhero in your own right, growing life.” You smiled gently at that.

<><><>

~1.5 months later… (7 months)

“She’s been good,” Happy commented, watching Y/N inside from the back patio. She was showing now completely, round, and no hiding her pregnancy. “I can admit, I am surprised.” He looked at Mikhail and said, “Looks like you aren’t a complete idiot.”

“Took you long enough to figure out,” Mikhail responded, taking a long drink, looking at the women gathered inside the room. He smacked his lips and said under his breath to Happy, “Not stoked about being at a baby shower but at least there’s a lot of nice ass to look at.”

Inside the mansion, you took the salad from your friend, who commented, “You should eat something else.”

“We are going to have cake later,” you said waving her off.

“I meant something more nutritious than a green salad, Y/N.”

“Spinach is very healthy,” you retorted.

“There are a lot of finger foods. Tea sandwiches. Meatballs on sticks with veggies. Deviled eggs. Pinwheels?”

You sighed, chewing the bite of salad you had just taken. “A couple deviled eggs wouldn’t be bad. And some veggie sticks with ranch.”

She walked off and you scowled to yourself. Everyone was trying to constantly get you to eat ‘healthy’ for the baby and it was getting worse, the hounding about everything you needed to do. You were tired of it. The constant asking about what you had eaten and when, the reminders to drink water as if you had not been drinking water your entire life, did you exercise…

Cassandra waltzed over, sitting down next to you. You were very thankful she had decided to come and had forgiven you for the scene at her house less than a year ago. She picked a crouton off your salad, drawing a smirk out of you as she winked, before she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Where did you get this dress? It is gorgeous.”

“Tiffany Rose.”

“The blush color looks beautiful on you. And I love you went dramatic with the floor length.”

“Thanks. Would you expect anything less from me?” you asked, jokingly. She shook her head, smiling. You took another bite and swallowed. “Are you looking for a dress for your shower?”

She nodded in return. She was taking a break from porn – hinting she might not go back at all – having gotten pregnant herself. And then asked, her eyebrows wiggling, “Is the blush supposed to be an indicator about the sex?”

“No. I just liked the color.”

“You really don’t know the sex yet? It’s a surprise for everyone?”

“Well, for us. I’m sure Happy and Mikhail know. God knows Tony couldn’t have kept it all to himself. Good luck breaking them though. I’ve been trying to get Happy to slip up about it for a couple weeks.”

Cassandra leaned back and said, “So, he set it all up and then the cake cutting reveal is his secret?” You nodded. “Hmm, he put a lot of work into this.”

“He did,” you confirmed, taking another bite as your other friend returned with a plate of deviled eggs and the vegetables you had agreed to. You held out the half-finished salad bowl and they took it, albeit reluctantly seeing you had not finished. You took the plate and obliged them by eating one of the eggs. “He’s excited.”

You paused and then added, “Excited but he’s ready for rough sex again.”

“I’m sure you are too,” Cassandra joked, nudging you playfully.

“Yeah. I’m tired of just… growing.” You took a bite off one of the carrot sticks. “It’s never ending. And I know I’ve got probably another month and a half of it at least.”

“It’ll all be worth it,” Cassandra reassured you, stealing a celery stick off your plate now and biting into it.

You finished off your carrot, swallowed, and muttered, “I fucking hope so.”

Your hand came to your stomach, rubbing. You were anxious to know what the sex was. When the sex had been able to be detected, Tony insisted you should stay in the dark so he could make it an actual reveal at the baby shower for you. You hated not knowing when he did, but he had been persistent about the idea of it and you had gone with it because he seemed thrilled with the idea. You just wanted to know. You were hoping the party would progress faster so you could end that anxiousness.

When it finally happened, the blue inside the cake settled something in you. At least you knew what that part of your future was going to look like.

<><><>

~2.5 months later…

“What’s this?” Tony asked, seeing another travel bag next to yours.

“It’s for Miles,” you said as if that was obvious. You went back into your closet, grabbing another scarf from your collection. It was going to be cold at Lake Tahoe for the trip.

Tony took the scarf from you and put it in your travel bag. “He doesn’t need a bag. He’s staying here.”

“Wait, what?” you asked, stricken. He was only a month old. Barely.

“Doctors said one month is enough, but a lot recommend three months for trips. So, we are going to play it safe. He’ll stay here and we will go.”

“Tony, I—we can’t leave him!” you tried to argue, your hand falling protectively on his travel bag.

Tony’s eyes flicked to your hands and he gripped them, prying them away to grasp them in his. He stared into your eyes and said, “Sure we can. It’s only three days, Y/N. We will be back before you know it. He is an infant; he’s not going to notice.”

You were going to notice leaving your infant behind.

“I have to breastfeed him,” you tried another argument.

“Pump before we leave. You have back up in the fridge, no? And it keeps for up to four days. And then he can have formula otherwise.”

“I didn’t want to give him formula,” you protested.

“Don’t listen to that shit that says it’s not good. I had formula and I’m a genius by earthly standards,” Tony said, trying to make a joke. “I already got the formula, Wendy knows how to whip it up.”

“But—” you started to protest but Tony interjected.

“Just us, princess. Just us,” Tony said, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he cradled your face. “He’ll be fine. He’s in very capable hands with Wendy. You trust her right?” He waited for you to respond and you nodded; you did trust her, wholeheartedly. But that did not mean you did not want to bring your infant on a trip with the two of you. Before you could actually say anything, Tony’s hands fell from your face and gripped at your hips, sliding back to your ass to hold you close. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.” He leaned in, nipping at your ear, “Let me enjoy you. He’s been stealing all your attention as of late.”

You hated that last comment. Throughout your pregnancy and even from the beginning, you had had a nagging feeling Tony was going to get jealous about sharing your affection and attention. And that was just proving it.

“I deserve some attention, don’t I, baby?”

Shoving down argument, you forced a quick smile. “Of course, daddy. All of my attention.”

He smiled sensually, his hands kneading at your ass as he pulled you closer. His eyes were alight with adoration for you. “That’s my perfect princess.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21, @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @kvzctam @farihafangirls, @teenageregression @mrsnegan25 @lilacs-lavender @agustdowney @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @emmariexx

#tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #dark marvel fic #my shit

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-The One-

Warnings: very very mild knifeplay, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), fingering, creampie, light navel play, tiny mention of blood, rituals, themes of witchcraft + demons, jealousy, sir kink, master kink, threesome, aftercare.

Felix × fem!Reader × Minho

Wc: 3k

Note: I stayed up all night writing this and was half-asleep so I apologize for any mistakes or incoherencies. Regardless, I’m quite proud of this fic hehe, and I’d love some feedback on it~

You could barely breathe. The feeling of his cock stretching you out as you sat on his lap, combined with the heady feeling of the knife's tip pressed against your skin was driving you insane with arousal.

"Such a pretty one you are...we don't usually get customers like you."

You scrunched your eyes shut, not wanting to make eye contact with him. His smirk, his golden eyes that gleamed with confidence...it would all make you even more nervous than you already were.

"Sir...p-please don't hurt me."

"Tsk. I won't, princess. Not yet." He shifted you on his lap, causing his tip to rub up against your sweet spot. You let out a soft moan as he did so, your eyes slowly opening and drifting down to the shiny steel pressed against your torso.

"Will it...will it hurt?"

He gently dragged the knife upwards, eyes fixed on you. He wasn't applying any pressure, and the blade itself wasn't very sharp...but it still sent tingles through you.

"Not really. If you're a good girl for us, it won't. The ritual is a very short one, and doesn't have many side effects."

"Okay...wait, us?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. My boss. He'll be here soon, don't worry. He's a busy man. I take care of the shop when he's not here."

"Oh...so you're like, his assistant?"

"Mmhm. You could say that. He doesn't pay me, though." He mutters, expression faltering for a second. The smirk slowly returned though, as he dragged the steel gently up between your breasts, pausing.

"Why...w-why do you work here, then?"

"He's family. My older brother,to be exact."

"O-oh..."

"Yup. In fact, enjoy my leniency while you can. I can assure you, my brother is a lot more..."

He sighed, poking the tip into your skin lightly, but not enough to draw blood.

"Sadistic."

You gulped as Felix suddenly started thrusting up into you, his hips gaining a newfound vigor. You groaned, throwing your head back as he hit your sweet spot again.

You never thought you'd end up like this...A few weeks ago, you were living your life like any other college student.

When winter break came along, you'd been more than excited to get back to your hometown...the place you'd grew up in. One of the first things you did was visit the woods, searching for the tree house you'd made when you were about 10 years old.

Of course, you hadn't expected to see a cottage where your tree house had formerly been. On hindsight, it probably wasn't a good idea to knock.

You hadn't expected to see a cute boy open the door, either.

Felix, he said his name was.

The cottage wasn't a house after all...it was more of an eccentric little shop, the shelves lined with curious looking bottles and dusty books.

You'd definitely thought the man was cuckoo, especially when he started talking about witchcraft and rituals. He was undeniably hot, though...

One thing led to another and here you were a few days later, having sex with someone you barely knew. That someone also happened to talk an awful lot about demons and witchcraft. God, you were stupid to trust him.

"This ritual...what does it require, again? And there's absolutely no side effects?"

"Nope. All you want is revenge, correct? We can make that happen."

"Having sex with you is part of it, right?"

Felix laughed, taking his knife away and resting it on the table next to him. "Oh, you truly do hurt me. Here I was thinking you were having sex with me cause you wanted to." He adjusted himself in his chair, lifting you off his cock and turning you around.

He slowly eased you back down onto his length, groaning softly under his breath at your tightness.

"Look here. Intercourse with a virgin is stage one of the ritual, and semen also happens to be one of the ingredients." He said, pulling your back against his chest and lifting a finger, causing a dusty old book in the corner of the room to hover over.

You squinted at the page, the words registering itself in your brain.

"Wait...how did you know I'm a virgin?"

"It's glaringly obvious, doll."

You gritted your teeth, biting your lip as Felix let the book drop to the floor, his hands on your waist as he slowly started fucking up into you.

"Remember, you asked for this. You're the one who came here first. You gave me full consent to do this."

"I d-did."

"Mmhmm. Don't forget to tell Minho that. If he's not a corpse somewhere, that is...he usually isn't this late."

A shiver ran through you as Felix suddenly got up with you still on his cock, his fingers digging into your skin as he took you over to the window. He slid apart the heavy purple curtains with one hand.

"Ah...there he is."

You twisted your neck slightly. Eyes misty with arousal, you could barely make out the shadowy figure approaching. Felix's fingers on your chin forced you to face him again, his smile slightly unsettling.

"He's here. I'll remind you again. This was your choice."

"M-my choice..." You gulped as the door opened, the bells tinkling.

There was silence for a few minutes. Felix's form was blocking the figure in the shop. You made a sound of frustration as you craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious man, despite the fear enveloping your heart.

"Hm. What do we have here? Felix, I've told you before. Don't bring your playthings into the shop."

Felix turned around, taking you to the counter and setting you on the edge of it, still inside you. The new angle finally let you make eye contact with the man.

Oh, fuck. Almost immediately, you wished you hadn't looked at him. Yes, Felix was scary and slightly unnerving...but this man's aura was a whole new shade of intimidating.

You tried your best to break eye contact, but you couldn't. His stare was mesmerizing, and you almost drooled.

A sharp thrust from Felix snapped you out of your haze.

"She isn't a plaything. She's been coming here for the past week...keeping me company. It gets lonely here when you leave on your little trips, you know."

Minho frowned as he set down the mysterious looking packages he'd been holding, leaning on the heavy oak table. His eyes fell on the open book. He lazily regarded the pages, sighing.

Despite his indifferent expression, when he spoke, his tone was menacing.

"Have you been showing this girl the texts? Felix, you know we're not supposed to fraternize with the mortals. I've let you copulate with some of them, but I've told you time and time again...magic and elements of the otherwordly realm are far too complex for their puny brains to comprehend."

Felix sighed, turning slightly to face his brother but not slowing down. He kept thrusting into you, a hand grasping your breast and fingers gliding over your nipple as he spoke.

"That's just it! This human here is different from the others. For one, once she got over her initial shock and surprise, she even started reading the rituals herself and helping me out around the shop! In fact, that's what we're doing right now, enacting the Interfectorem Inimicus Ritual. She has a silly little rival she wants to get rid of."

Minho sighed, his eyes coming up to meet yours again. You looked away meekly, making a small smirk appear on his features.

Cute.

He rarely found mortals attractive...but this one right here might have to be an exception. Besides, if what Felix said was true, she was special. Maybe she wasn't even a mortal after all...

Minho needed to know if that was true. And there was only one way to find out.

He stalked over calmly, tapping Felix's shoulder.

"Give her to me."

"What?!" Felix's look of confusion mirrored yours.

"You heard me." His gaze drifted slowly to you, a finger sneaking out to trace your jawline. You unknowingly leaned into his touch, shivering at the feeling of his cold fingers.

"Hmm now, kitten...why exactly were you snooping about in the sacred texts?" His gaze was stern as he locked your eyes with his.

"I wasn't s-snooping-"

"Did Lixie here give you permission?"

"I, well...no..." You hated the way his intense stare was making you blurt out the truth, cheeks flushed. "I was just curious, that's all. So I read one of the b-books when he wasn't looking."

"Curious." Minho let go of your chin, chuckling. "Haven't you heard? Curiosity killed the cat." His eyes turned darker. "Although when it comes to this kitty, it might just be something else that leads to her demise..."

You swallowed, a fresh wave of arousal shooting through you as Minho smiled, saccharine sweet.

He glared at Felix, making him let go of you reluctantly.

"I'm going to fuck you now, kitten. Would you like that?"

You looked up at him. There was just something about him...his intensity, his demeanor...combined with his sharp beauty...he had you whiny and needy, keening in just seconds.

"Yes, Master, want you...want you so bad!" You mewled, just as Felix pulled out of you.

"Good girl."

In seconds, he gathered you in his arms, taking you over to the burgundy sofa in the corner of the room. "Now, let's do this ritual the right way, shall we? Felix, light some candles."

"Listen, brother, I really don't think this is a good idea and-"

"Do as I say."

Felix sighed, nodding as he went to gather some candles from the shelf. As he lit each one, his heart shuddered.

The two of them knew something you didn't.

Felix and Minho shared a demonic father, but had different mothers. Felix's mother happened to be human, while Minho's definitely wasn't. It was why Felix was able to have intercourse with humans without rendering them completely insane.

Minho, on the other hand...didn't possess even an ounce of humanity. He was draconian, otherworldly...

Felix glanced back, sadness taking over his features as he watched you, entranced as you stared at him.

He was worried you wouldn't last the night.

Minho leaned down, inhaling. He loved the way the human interacted to his touches, however featherlight they may be. He ran the tip of his fingers over your chin, down between your breasts. His fingers continued their descent until they reached your navel, his lust growing as he dipped his finger in, prompting a soft whimper from you. He fingered your navel gently for a few seconds, before he went even lower...finally reaching your clit.

If you were indeed human, you wouldn't be able to handle him or his cock. If you weren't, though?

The implications of it drove Minho giddy with excitement. He'd never had the pleasure of playing with someone as responsive and adorable as you were. Maybe you could even be his queen when he ascends his father's throne...

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts. First, he had to make sure of your origins. Then, he'd let himself daydream.

His fingers slowly pushed into your already dripping pussy, an appreciative groan leaving his lips as your soaking walls hugged his digits tightly.

Felix finished with the candles, his own erection growing impossibly harder as the lewd noises your pussy was making filled the room.

He turned, making his way to the sofa and glaring at his brother. He already harbored quite a bit of resentment for the older man, and this only served to deepen his hatred. Why did he have to steal away everything that was his?

Minho pulled his fingers out with a pop, sucking on his digits as he looked over at Felix. Your eyes opened halfway, registering Minho's naked form with some surprise. When did he remove his clothes? Then again, you knew the two men in the room didn't obey the same worldly rules you did.

Minho's eyes drifted down to Felix's erection, tutting under his breath.

"You know what...you can use her mouth, if you like."

Felix grumbled. It was better than nothing, but then again...He didn't want his brother to fuck you at all. Till now, you'd proven to be different from the usual human...most mortals couldn't even see their shop. However, he still felt that slight unease that came with not wanting to see you hurt. He'd only known you for a week but...deep inside, he didn't want to lose you.

Felix led his cock to your lips, eyes searching your lidded ones for discomfort. When he found none, he slid his length past your throat slowly, making you moan.

Minho's thick tip was rubbing at your folds. You could only feel the sensation of his head dragging up and down your slit...but it was more than enough for you to realize that he was bigger than everyone you'd ever had sex with.

When he finally pushed into you, you saw stars in your eyes. The pleasure was overwhelming...so sudden and potent that you screamed, Felix's eyes widening in concern as he pulled out.

"Are you okay?

"Y-yeah! For fuck's sake, it feels so gooooooood-" You choked out, clenching tightly around Minho's huge cock, his thrusts unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. It was almost satanic, the way he plunged into you repeatedly, stretching you out to your absolute limit.

Minho gritted his teeth as he gripped your waist tightly, his head thrown back in pleasure. "Fuck...ironic, but your pussy is heavenly, kitten..."

He moved you up and down his shaft, the feeling of your soft pussy opening up more and more with each stroke driving him crazed with lust. He'd never felt anything like this before.

"Felix, she's so fucking- shit....she's so fucking perfect-"

Felix frowned, sitting back as he watched. He couldn't help the envy from gripping his heart as he watched your pleasure-stricken face, your eyes rolling back in your head as Minho slid his girth deeper, hitting your sweet spot. He didn't want to stay any longer, but he couldn't help it. He really didn't want to leave you alone with his brother.

Minho drove into you faster as he felt his orgasm approaching, spurred on by the way you clenched tightly around him, clearly near your end as well.

"Kitten? 'M going to cum...going to fill your little pussy up..."

You whined, arching your back. "Can I cum, Master?"

He shook his head, growling as he rubbed your clit. "You'll cum when I tell you to."

Minho turned to the side as he kept abusing your pussy, his eyes landing on Felix...chuckling at his hand wrapped around his cock.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Felix let out a moan as he continued jerking himself off, standing up. He didn't care anymore...you looked so perfect like this, completely naked and at their mercy, mouth wide open and ready for him to use.

He came closer and shoved his cock down your throat roughly, not giving you time to adjust as he started fucking into you, his high close. You choked, caught off guard, but quickly got over it. Determined to be a good girl for them, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked on Felix's cock desperately, even as you tried to stave off your orgasm.

His length twitched in your mouth, and before you knew it, you felt warm cum spurting down your throat. Felix groaned, pulling out slowly.

"Felix, now. Get my blade and the book."

"Wait, what?"

"She's the one. I can tell. Quick. We need to get her blood at the exact time she hits her high, or I won't be able to complete my ritual."

"Wait- no! This is Y/n's ritual, the one for her rival. It's lower magic. The one you want to do...Come on, brother! You have to think before making a decision like this, you can't just make her your bride...we have to get Y/n's permission, too-"

Minho growled, his eyes flashing red as he glared at Felix. "I'm not performing a wedding ritual or anything, brother. I'm simply preserving her essence-"

Felix shook his head. His heart was thudding- he'd figured it out too, just like his brother had. You weren't mortal. You were special...and that meant Minho wanted to find out what exactly you were.

He felt sick as he thought of you getting married to his brother. No. You belonged here on Earth, with your family and your friends-

With him.

Before he could react, Minho's hand had materialized the exact knife he wanted.

Encrusted with rubies and made of demonic steel, the blade was far sharper than the one Felix had been teasing you with before.

Minho let go of your waist to grab your hand, bringing it up to his face. His hips continued their assault, making you whine and whimper.

Half the things they said were making no sense, and you were scared and yet...aroused, at the same time. You didn't know what was going on, but you wanted to listen to the man above you. You wanted to do everything he said, wanted to be his little pet...wanted to be his. Your brain felt like it was slowly getting rid of all rationality, the feeling of his cock making you whine louder.

"Kitten...I'm going to make a tiny little cut, right here on your finger. Is that okay?"

You nodded desperately, and Minho smiled at you in approval.

"Cum."

You finally let go, the pleasure washing over you in a tidal wave as you shook, convulsing with electricity as Minho drove the blade into the tip of your finger just enough to let out a few drops of blood.

Felix reluctantly conjured up an empty potion vial, capturing the drop with ease.

Minho lifted your finger to his mouth, sucking on the digit and running his tongue over the wound repeatedly. The metallic taste of your blood was the final push he needed to cum, thrusting deeper as he spilled himself into you.

When he let go of your finger, all the pain had disappeared. You noticed your finger was healed...the skin just as clean and soft as it was before.

You whined as he pulled out, conjuring another vial to gather some of your mixed fluids that was leaking out from between your thighs. He yawned as he handed it to Felix, who corked it with a frown on his face, setting it next to the vial with your blood in it. He knew what Minho wanted to do...he wanted to perform a ritual with the vials, wanted to make sure you were the one for him. It wasn't a wedding ritual by any means...but it was a pre-requisite, and the thought saddened Felix. Maybe his feelings for you were deeper than he'd thought.

Slowly, Minho gathered you into his arms, patting your hair gently and kissing your forehead.

"You were a good kitten, Y/n. How are you feeling?"

"I'm f-feeling okay..."

Minho made a face of delight at Felix. "She can still talk and formulate sentences!" He mouthed, prompting a half-hearted smile from his brother.

"D'you want to cuddle?"

You pouted. "Mmhmm! But..I want Lix to come cuddle too."

Felix looked up at that, his eyes widening.

You still wanted him?

Minho met his eyes, giving him a small smile. "Sure, baby. Lix can come cuddle as well."

You grinned, looking over at Felix and making grabby hands. Giggling, the boy quickly dropped onto the couch, wrapping his arms around your torso and humming in content.

"You know..I don't mind sharing her." Minho whispered, his fingers still stroking your hair. "Really?" Felix asked, looking down at you.

"If she wants to be shared, that is."

"I don't mind!" You chirped. "Life is boring here, anyway. Where did you guys say you lived again?"

The two men shared a look.

Minho sighed as he stroked your hair. "I can't wait to introduce you to our dad."

"Your dad?"

"Yep! Don't worry, he's nice. And I think he'd like you."

You frowned slowly as you remembered something Felix had told you. Snippets of their conversation flashed through your brain as your stomach filled with something akin to dread and anticipation.

"Who did you say your dad was, again?"

"Oh, what? Ah, that doesn't really matter. He's just the king of the Underworld."

#skzsmutnet #felix smut #minho smut #lee know smut #yongbok smut #felix angst #felix fluff #minho fluff #skz smut #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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nohoney · 3 years

Text

You and Me (And Him)

notes: Part 2 of the Us Series, also posted on my ao3

characters: Dabi/Touya Todoroki, Takami Keigo/Hawks

warnings: 18+, drug use, toxic relationships, open relationships, angsty-ish, threesome

summary:

“If this happens… will it be just sex or will it be more?”

Golden eyes stare back at you. “It can be whatever you want it to be (Name).”

You scrutinize him under your gaze for a little bit, silent for a few moments before asking, “Will you kiss me?”

“Of course.”

Touya had introduced you to Keigo when your relationship was just two months old. You remember being astounded by his eyes at first, they were so bright and friendly as opposed to Touya’s which were piercing and intimidating. Keigo was such an easy going guy, his manner of speaking and his certain lilts when he talked made you feel comfortable immediately despite how nervous you were at first. He fit easily into your life, a friend that you knew you could rely on for almost anything.

Where Touya was apathetic and aloof, Keigo was magnetic and charming.

It was a wonder how those two got along, you had to figure that the ‘opposites attract’ concept worked out for them. You’re not certain what the turning point was in their relationship that Keigo received permission to address Touya by his birth name, but obviously it meant a lot to your boyfriend and Keigo seemed touch to be apart of his inner circle. Aside from pills they ingested and the powders they snorted that bonded them together, they had a genuine friendship.

It goes to say that Touya and Keigo are close, and they’re close enough where apparently there’s an option of sharing you between the two of them.

“I gave you permission to fuck who you want doll, Keigo is not the worst person you could choose. In fact, I’d like it if he were the one to keep you warm for me.”

You liked to believe that you and Keigo had a strictly platonic friendship, but Touya had essentially ruined that perspective for you now.

Had Keigo always felt that way from the very start or was it gradual during your budding friendship? Did he want to be your second boyfriend or was he looking for something a little more casual?

Those were all important questions but there was one that you needed answered first before you did anything with Keigo.

You were working up the nerve to ask Touya this ever since that day when he fucked you while Keigo was right beside you. He sat on the edge of his couch with his laptop on the coffee table, reading over an article needed for one of his classes. Drug dealer aside, he was actually a good student, breezing through his classes easily. Though you know that the only reason why he would finish up so quickly was so that it wouldn’t interfere as much with his dealing. As opposed to Keigo who liked to sit down and really make sure that he retained the knowledge.

“Touya, can I ask you something?” you ask from your end of the couch, shifting your feet towards Touya until they were on his lap. He props your feet in his lap and he strokes his hands over your shins and calves, his expression bored but attentive as he turns to look at you. “That thing you said before about Keigo wanting to… do stuff with me. You weren’t just saying that so that I’d bother you less when you go out right?”

When you go out and sell to your whores. You want to add that part but you know it’s best not to bring it up; you’ve already had this conversation with him and it’s too soon to open it back up again.

“I said it because I know that Keigo will treat you right doll. I trust him and I know that he’d be good to you.” Touya answers honestly.

“You’re good to me.” you tease, lightly nudging your foot up into his hand.

Touya smirks at you and crawls his way over to your side of the sofa. He moves to make you sit on his lap, your legs straddling him as he leans back against the sofa. Your hands touch his shoulders before drawing down, your index fingers tracing his chest beneath the white, sleeveless shirt that he’s wearing. “I’m fucking great to you doll. I’m so fucking great to you that I wouldn’t mind if you fucked my closest friend.”

You grind down on Touya’s lap, his cock stirring beneath the dark sweats that he’s wearing and moan when he thrusts up into you. Ghosting your lips over his, you tease him just a little bit when he tries to go in for a kiss and pull back with a giggle. Touya isn’t having it though, putting his hand on the back of your neck and keeping you in place so that he can go in for a proper kiss. You like when he asserts himself like this over you and renders you helpless before him, it gets you going. “I wouldn’t mind if you fucked me right now baby.” you purr.

The discussion is tabled for now as you ride Touya’s cock and he leaves you a shaking mess afterwards.

Keigo comes to the Touya’s apartment later on during the week. You walk in after finishing up at your part time job to see them splitting an eightball between the two of them at the dinner table. You’d never done more than a gram of coke before and even then you usually split up that gram with one another person. “Geez, what’s the special occasion?” you ask as you set your purse down and shrug off your sweater.

“Nothing in particular, just thought of relaxing today.” Touya answers as if it’s the normal thing in the world. Relaxing with a six pack of beers with the boys, that’s normal; relaxing with an eightball of cocaine with the boys, that’s not.

But this is your life with Touya as your boyfriend and as long as he or Keigo don’t overdose on you, then everything should be fine. You know that this definitely is not their first time and you once again remind yourself about the gap between you and the boys.

“Dove, do you want a line?” Keigo asks as he uses a credit card to cut three white lines on the surface of one of the dinner plates. You don’t think it’s really a question because he pretty much made a third one anyway for you to take. He’s waving you over, an expectant smile on his face that you can’t bring yourself to say no to. Instead of sitting in the chair next to him, Keigo pulls you onto his lap instead and hands you a rolled up bill.

Just one line. you think to yourself as you inhale the powder through the bill.

That one line ends up becoming ten instead, very measly compared to the boys but considered a lot for yourself.

Touya and Keigo pretty much polish off the rest of the eightball and talk amongst themselves at the dining table still while you moved yourself over to the couch. Laying on your stomach and facing away from the boys, you idly scroll through your social media on your phone to keep yourself entertained. Your brain is a little wired so you’re just waiting for the coke to pass through your system and then you can sleep properly. From behind, a hand goes underneath your shirt and slowly smooths up your spine. It feels pleasant and your body shudders in response, pushing back against the hand as a silent beg for more. You’re surprised that Touya is massaging you, most of the time he tends to just skim the tips of his fingers all over your back until you fall asleep. Deft fingers press into the right spots on your back and you can’t help but let out a quiet moan along with a whined out, “Thank you baby.”

“You’re welcome dove.”

You turn back to see that Keigo had been the one massaging you while Touya just remained at the table, watching from his seat with eyes full of mirth and a grin to match.

How blatant of the both of them.

And that’s only the beginning.

Every instance Keigo is in your presence, he begins to invade your personal space more often and pushes the boundaries of your friendship into something more. Touches to your waist or the small of your back, quick pecks to your cheek or your lips, sometimes putting his hand on your thigh, even his pet names become a little more affectionate like little dove or songbird. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable per se but you’ve yet to really come to a conclusion about what you want to do about him.

You know that if you don’t say anything about it, if you don’t verbalize a ‘no’ or ‘stop’, Keigo’s just going to keep on going. After all, if you don’t stop one's actions they assume that it’s okay to keep on going and possibly to do more.

It appears that Touya’s getting a little impatient with your inaction, confronting you about it after fucking in the backseat of his car one day.

“So are you going to let Keigo smash or what (Name)?”

“I… don’t know. You and me and him, don't you think it will be weird?”

"Only if you make it weird."

You lay naked together rather comfortably despite the small space, your cheek resting against his chest where his heart is beating so close to your ear while he’s petting your head. It’s quiet between the two of you, just trying to catch your breath before having to get dressed and dropped off to your own bed. You want to be in Touya’s bed or have him sleep in yours, but he has a drop off to replenish his inventory later on and wants you where he knows you’re safe. It’s sweet how he doesn’t risk you like that, he only allows you to know so much. Maybe that’s part of the reason why he’s pushing Keigo onto you, to keep an eye on you when he’s not able to.

Touya loves having you in his sights, doesn’t like when you stray too far from him, even if he doesn’t show it on his face. You know by his tells, squeezed just a little too tight in a hug or the constant question he asks just right before you leave ‘are you sure?’ or the way his jaw clenches just a smidge too tight when you want to sleep in your own bed instead of his.

He pats the back of your head twice to let you know to get up.

Touya’s quicker to get dressed and you move to the side so that he can crawl to the driver’s side first. You’re still pulling on your pants when you feel his large hand wrap around your bicep to get your attention. “Baby?”

“If you don’t want to do anything with Keigo, that’s fine (Name). The least you can do is to tell him to stop flirting if you’re not interested though.” Touya tells you, a hint of irritation behind his tone. You don’t get to say anything else as he crawls to get to the driver’s seat and starts up the car. “Come on, I can’t be late.”

You sleep alone in your bed that night, thinking about you and Keigo and Touya.

A few more days pass before you finally give an answer.

Touya holds you from behind, his arm curled around your waist and his face nuzzled against the back of your head, he’s resting in your bed peacefully after a long night of being up. It’s getting close to noon and you’ve pretty much skipped your classes for the day because his hold on you is iron tight. He’s still fast asleep but you’re wide awake and desperate to use the bathroom to pee so you try to wriggle out of his hold. The movement disgruntles Touya but he releases you to flop on his back to continue sleeping.

You relieve yourself and wash your hands in the sink, glancing up at the mirror to check your complexion briefly before walking back into your room. Touya always looks most peaceful when he’s asleep, not like the bored expression he’s always sporting on his face whenever he’s out in public. You get back in the bed, not with the intention to sleep more, but you just want to be close to your boyfriend just a little bit longer. Reaching a hand out to massage his scalp, your fingers are brushing through his hair and he groans under your touch. You hold in a giggle as Touya sticks his hand down his boxer briefs, just letting his hand rest on his soft cock and doing nothing else but continuing to sleep.

“Touya? Touya, it’s almost noon.” you call out to him.

“… Doll.” he grunts out, slightly annoyed at being woken up.

“You want something to eat? You hungry?”

Touya just dismissively waves his other hand at you, the one that’s not shoved into his underwear.

“Okay, I’ll just make something so that you can have the leftovers later on and I want to have a proper threesome with Keigo.” The last part you just quickly blurted out to get it out of the way.

There… said it, finally told him what I want to do.

He’s silent for a few seconds before he opens his eyes to look at you. “It can just be you and him doll, I’m not making it a requirement for me to be there.”

“I know but I was thinking about it and I think I just want to officially induct Keigo by having a proper threesome.”

Touya pulls his hand out from his underwear and pats his thigh, signaling you to come sit on his lap. He puts his hands on your hips as you sit on his cock, his thumbs teasing the hem of your panties and has you grinding slightly on him. “You want Keigo to stuff your mouth while I drill this slutty pussy? Or I can fuck your face instead and he can go balls deep in you? How about double penetration? You love it when I play with your ass while I fuck up your pussy with my cock. I think it’d be nice to cream you in both of your holes. Or maybe we’ll just cum on your sexy body together. Last time he came on your tits, you have no idea how wild that drove him.”

“Okay, you sound way more excited for it than I am.” you laugh as you take Touya’s hands off your hips and lace your fingers together. “But yeah, I want to do this… with Keigo.”

“Alright doll but you have to be the one to tell him.”

And so you do later on that day, Touya smacks your ass on the way out of his apartment as you go to meet up with Keigo. He gives you a shit eating grin as he watches you walk away, proud that he can see the slight limp in your step.

So you sit with Keigo at a booth in back inside a cafe as he tells you about his week; he’s always busy in between his classes, completing his lab work, studying and tutoring. You’ve realized very early on that he likes to be a busy person, he likes keeps his scheduled jam packed sometimes. Yet he handles the load of all his responsibilities with ease, like he’s barely trying and that it’s as easy as hanging up a shirt and moving onto the next. You’re certain that if you even attempted to imitate his lifestyle that you wouldn’t be able to handle it as well and just burn out.

It could be the Adderall that Touya supplied to Keigo that helped him sometimes, but even without it he still held himself together rather well.

You’re trying to find the right way to tell Keigo, wondering what’s a smooth transition into telling him-

“Let’s have another threesome.”

Way to be fucking smooth!

Keigo was in the middle of telling you about this plant nursery he thought you’d like when you interrupted him. His golden eyes are set wide in surprise, as if someone had put him on pause and he’s waiting to be set right again. He’s still for a few seconds when he finally blinks and looks at you.

Golden eyes just stare at you and you’re squirming under his gaze.

Maybe I waited too long and he’s not interested anymore?

“Aw dove, you realize how cute you look right now? You’re like a shy schoolgirl asking to hold hands for the very first time.” Keigo coos at you, leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand and smiling. “You sure you want to? I’m also okay if you want nothing to change between us, I love being your friend.”

“A friend who wants to fuck you.” You remember Touya’s words from that time.

You nod your head and reach for his hand to take it in yours. “I just have to know something. I already asked Touya but I need to hear this from the only person I know that probably knows him the best. You’ll be honest with me, won’t you?”

Keigo’s hands are warm as he gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Of course (Name).”

“It’s just, you know, the whole thing with Touya and the other girls that he does his business with… I’m not accepting it still, I guess I’m just letting it happen because he insists that I’m the only one that gets all this special treatment from and I’m believing him for the time being. I just wanted it to be me and him, just us, and now there’s you. I just need to know that he’s not proposing us, this arrangement, so that I’ll harass him less when he goes to see them.”

Despite the arrangement of bringing Keigo in, no matter what your relationship with Touya comes first. It still bothers you when he goes out to the others and you do your best to not let your jealously show, there’s no point in having consistent arguments about it. But you can’t help the paranoia in your heart that he only proposed this so that you don’t have a reason to bother him. As long as you have someone else to sleep with then Touya can continue doing what he’s doing, that’s what you think.

Keigo sighs as he holds your hands in his, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles. “Don’t tell him that I told you this but there used to be more girls before you came along.”

Your jaw clenches.

“How many of them do you know of at the moment?” Keigo asks.

“Three or four I think.” you answer.

“It used to be eight. After he met you, he pretty much cut that list down to half.”

Your heart twists at the truth but it still changes nothing. “So I’m supposed to feel grateful that he liked me enough to only keep half the whores he still wants to fuck? He says that I’m his number one but what happens when he ends up liking whore #4 more? Am I just going to get bumped down the list? Am I just whore #1 for the time being?”

Keigo scratches the back of his head and seems a bit reluctant all of a sudden but he continues to speak to ease your doubts. “It’s not like that dove, it really isn’t. Touya’s never been the best with confronting his feelings but I see how he cares for you. I know to you it seems like he still has whores he wants to hang onto, but in reality he’s been slowly letting go so that he can focus on you. I can’t tell you when the others will be gone but all I know is that you’re his priority. This is new for Touya, he’s never had a real relationship before you. All he’s ever had is just a casual thing—hell the girls that he’s sold to, you can’t even call it casual, it’s just-”

“Business.” Touya’s used that word plenty of times.

You already had a feeling that he had commitment issues, it’s obvious in the way he keeps you around but still sees the others.

“I remember how upset Touya was when you left that one time to sleep with someone else because you were angry at him. I’d never seen him get so upset over anyone else (Name), it’s just been you. The feelings he has for you, it's intense.”

“My question still isn’t answered Keigo: does Touya only want this to happen so that I’ll bother him less when he goes out? Like it’s okay for him to go out and get his dick wet, struggling with whatever feelings he has for us, while I’m wetting yours? Is it just easier for him knowing a friend is plowing me instead of a stranger? It just all seems so convenient for him.”

Keigo’s posture stiffens a little bit. “He knows that he’s the one who proposed it but he didn’t want to backtrack and change his mind once he realized that you shouldn’t be a random whore for someone else to use as they please… ironic coming from the guy that uses random whores as he pleases. He feels you only deserve to get fucked by people who love you, those were his words.”

“I trust him and I know he’d be good to you.”

Whoa… love? No one said anything about love.

Touya tells you how much he loves your pussy, he’s never said himself that he loves you. And Keigo? He just said not too long about that he loves being your friend…

“Wait, did Touya actually say that he loves me? What kind of love are we talking about?”

Keigo’s golden eyes briefly widen in surprise before realizing that he might have said too much, speaking of things that Touya told him he wasn’t ready to talk about with you just yet. “I… shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that… uh fuck I can’t really speak for Touya.” Keigo curses and takes his hand back, scrunching his hand in his blond hair and looks down in embarrassment. “He’s going to kill me.”

What happened to just proposing a simple threesome? You didn’t realize that all these feelings were going to be involved when you were going to talk to him today.

“Keigo, you are being honest with me though right? You’re not lying?”

Golden eyes look up at you, full of conviction. “I could never lie to you (Name).”

You hate that Touya still sees his other whores, he sells to them and fucks them. It didn’t matter that it’s been impersonal this entire time with the others, it just hurt that you couldn’t have all of him. And yet Keigo’s admission had just changed everything, all with just one four letter word, that apparently Touya was more wrapped around your finger than you thought. The situation itself is still twisted but you’re not trying to escape it. Instead you sink deeper and deeper into it.

"Did Touya say he loves me?" you ask, not surprised that your question is met with silence. It's clear that Keigo wasn't supposed to mention that to you at all. "Do you believe what he said? That I should only be fucked by people who love me? Do you love me Keigo and is that love the same as Touya's?"

His eyes betray nothing, now set on remaining mum when it comes to this topic it seems. His silence is an answer in of itself, though it's not exactly a clear one. You won't waste anymore time asking these questions, you set out here with a mission. “If this happens… will it be just sex or will it be more?”

Golden eyes stare back at you. “It can be whatever you want it to be (Name).”

You scrutinize him under your gaze for a little bit, silent for a few moments before asking, “Will you kiss me?”

“Of course.”

The kiss is nothing like the one at the house party when the two of you were rolling on ecstasy. There’s no enhanced euphoria to make it better or any other substance to get in the way of what it is; just a tender, chaste kiss. Luckily you two are seated in the back so there’s no one around to witness this, not like at the house party with so many people around. Even when you pull back, Keigo still leans forward to pepper your face with little pecks here and there.

You’re leading Keigo by the hand back to Touya’s place, the door already unlocked for you since you know he wasn’t going out today anyway. He’s emerging from his bedroom and grins at you when he sees you holding Keigo’s hand. A knowing grin comes onto his face as he leans against the wall, looking you up and down.

“Uh where should we do this?” you ask, squeezing Keigo’s hand and shifting your weight from one leg to the other in nervousness.

Touya approaches you and kisses your forehead before taking your other hand in his own. “Well what’s a place to have a ‘proper threesome’ doll? Just the bedroom? Last time we fucked on a couch so I think it’ll do just fine this time as well.”

“A proper threesome? Is that what you called it songbird? That’s so cute.” Keigo laughs and nuzzles his head against yours. “Though I can’t disagree, I didn’t really do anything to you.”

“Hey, I offered at the time and you said no.” Touya banters with Keigo as he leads you to the couch, having you sit down on it first. “You can’t really say that you weren’t given a chance.”

Keigo simply shrugs his shoulders in response before looking down at you. You sit way too stiff on the couch, back as straight as an arrow and your brows crinkled with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. He reaches a hand towards you and pats the top of your head, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against your scalp and massaging to get you to relax. He thinks how cute you are, acting like as if he hadn’t already seen you naked and what you look like when you’re getting railed. He’s just excited to be able to play with you with his own hands this time, manipulating your pleasures to his own tastes while coordinating with Touya.

“What are you acting like such a virgin for? Keigo already knows what you look liked when you’re getting fucked. No need to be shy.” Touya quips at you and chuckles at how you hide your face in your hands. “Quit it doll, you’re not so innocent. He’s seen it and I’ve seen it, now be a good girl and take off your clothes.”

Touya speaks in that tone when there’s no room for argument, that you dare not talk back or else you’re going to get a punishment. And normally you love to test his patience when he speaks to you in that manner, you know he loves it when you get all bratty with him but with Keigo present you’re a little bit more reluctant to be so cheeky. So you follow directions and reach towards your pants zipper to get your bottoms off first but then Keigo catches your wrist in his hand.

“Wait, I want to undress her.” Keigo announces.

Touya allows it with a passive wave of his hand.

So Keigo kneels down to do the job himself, taking his time and touching you appreciatively while you look away from his gaze. It reminds you of when you tried undressing yourself at the house party when you were rolling to jump into a pool and he caught you just in time, helping poor little you dress back up because you shouldn’t have been trying to get naked with a bunch of strangers around you. Your face is warm as the tips of his fingers skim across your naked skin, completely in the nude and absolutely self conscious as your hands go up to cover your breasts.

Keigo gently pulls your hands away and asks Touya, “Was she this shy with you the first time?”

“Tch, shy? She’s the one that had me by the cock the first time we fucked, bratty little thing pretty much demanded that I blow her back out.” Touya chuckled as he pet the top of your head before lifting your head up. “Isn’t that right doll? You remember?”

You nodded as the memory resurfaced into your mind.

“So why so shy now dove?” Keigo asks as he sheds his shirt and moves to undo his belt buckle.

“It’s different, you’re a friend Keigo. And I’ve never pleased two guys at the same time.”

Touya just merely whips off his own shirt and palms his erection through his sweatpants. “You don’t have to worry about anything (Name). There’s nothing different about sex when there’s an additional person. Keigo’s got plenty of experience in this, he’s been to a few orgies and a gangbang once.”

You whipped your head back to look at Keigo who merely just scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Hehe, there’s no need to tell her that Touya. But things will be fine dove, we know you trust us. Remember what I said earlier?”

“Y-Yeah… I remember.”

They love you… though you’re not sure what the extent of their love is for you. It’s dangerous to confuse possession for love and that’s the feeling that you get from the both of them. The logical side of you is very aware of this fact and yet you ignore it once more. Love or not, this isn’t exactly your ideal relationship but you’re not quite willing to walk away just yet.

“Can you kiss me Keigo?” you ask, figuring that you might as well just start off.

“Of course songbird.” he says as he pulls you up from the couch and leans down to kiss you. He wastes no time in gliding his tongue against the seam of your soft lips, drawing a quiet moan from you. Keigo is definitely a gentle kisser, or at least for now he’s being gentle, and any nervousness you felt washed away in the tender way he held you in his arms. Keigo’s erection pokes at your thigh and you move one hand in between your bodies to hold it in your hand. You didn’t get a good look at it last time but from the feel of it you can tell it’s a bit smoother compared to Touya’s, a prominent vein underneath as you skim the tips of your fingers over it.

“Get on your knees doll, show Keigo how good you are with that mouth.”

Sinking to your knees, you get a good look at Keigo’s cock; it’s a pretty pink color that’s a little flushed at the tip and the length is close to Touya’s though skinnier in girth. You give it a few experimental pumps in your hand before dipping your head down to take him into your mouth. The taste is a little musty but that’s to be expected when your genitals just sit in your pants all day and it doesn’t bother you at all. His cock glides smoothly over your tongue and when it hits the back of your throat, you moan around it before pulling back with an audible pop.

“You’re looking at my cock like you’re in love with it dove.” Keigo teases. He expects you to quip back at him but you merely open your mouth and stick your tongue out, a quiet ‘ahh’ from you makes his spine tingle. “Eager girl.”

Touya watches you as you swallow Keigo into your eager mouth, your eyes looking up at him and meeting his golden gaze. Watching you on your knees for someone else is getting him hard as fuck, fisting his cock in his hand and proud that you’ve let go of your inhibitions. There was no reason for you to be so shy earlier, Touya knew that you’d relax instantly with Keigo; he always had a charm about him that made everyone comfortable once they met him.

Still though, you’re his girl and he does feel a bit left out so he takes you by the back of your head and directs you to go down on him instead. Touya sees how enthused you are at the familiarity of having his cock in your mouth and how you look up into his own eyes. You’re stroking Keigo with one of your hands while the other plays with your clit messily, all the while you’re smoothly sucking him off; you’re his slutty little multi-tasker. Back and forth you trade off between Keigo and Touya’s cocks and having completely forgotten how shy you were from before. You suppose that Touya’s words from before actually ring true.

Hands go underneath your armpits and you’re lifted to sit on the couch, ass hanging off the edge with your legs held open and leaning back on your elbows for support. You barely get a word in when Keigo smoothly slides down to his knees and proceeds to eat you out like he’s the hungriest man in the world and the first meal he’s given is absolute ambrosia. He’s fucking good with his mouth, a goddamn expert as his tongue flicks over the petals of your pussy, you can’t help but wonder if he got so good from those apparent orgies that Touya said that Keigo attended previously.

Touya has one leg kneeled on the couch and is balanced with one foot on the floor as he watches once again from the sidelines for a brief moment. He thinks of all the times the two of you had sex in front of a mirror, watching your reflection as he railed you on his cock and keeping his eyes forward rather than on you. It’s different to see you in this perspective, being touched by someone else and hearing you moan for his closest friend. If you were moaning for anyone else, if Keigo wasn’t the one Touya had chosen, he’d go crazy with jealousy. He thinks of the scumbag men he’d seen eye you up and down when you weren’t looking, how he knows that they would see you as just a hole to fuck rather than a precious gem to treasure. They wouldn’t cherish you like he did, wouldn’t appreciate you the way Touya does, the things he’d do for you he knows that no other man would. Keigo is the only person he would trust to lavish you with all the affection you deserve.

She’s mine. Touya thinks before looking at Keigo. She’s ours.

You’re obedient when Touya reaches a hand forward, his thumb pressing against your plush bottom lip before you take it into your mouth. Keigo’s teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and has two fingers moving inside you, golden eyes set on you as you look up at Touya. Your eyes are fluttering though, struggling to keep them focused as his fingers steal your concentration by finding your g-spot and dragging the pads of his fingers down before repeating the motion. A drawn out groan rumbles out from your pretty mouth and you drop your head back.

“She just came.” Keigo states as he withdraws his fingers from you and licks up your juices. “You enjoy yourself songbird?”

You answer with a tired nod of your head.

Keigo chuckles quietly, rubbing his hand on your thigh before looking to Touya. “Does she need a minute?”

“No, she can keep going." Touya kneels down to you and kisses you briefly, waking you from your orgasm-induced stupor as you reach up to touch the back of his neck and kiss you deeper. You and him are lip-locked as Keigo kisses up your body, focusing on your breasts as the pads of his fingers press into your hipbones and make you shiver under his touch. You think that maybe Touya was right from before, that sex isn’t that much different when you have another person around. Kissing is still the same, blowjobs are more or less the same, so is being eaten out, but you’re getting twice the pleasure and excitement.

One hand reaches down and scrunches through Keigo’s blond hair, soft tresses glide through your fingers and you’re reminded of the last time you rolled. His hair was just as soft when you had first kissed him at the party and you think briefly about what kind of shampoo and conditioner he uses to keep his hair so soft, maybe he uses hair masks and stuff like those internet hair recipes for it to feel so nice. So you grab a handful of it and pull his head back, giggling when he grunts and the faint hiss of, “Naughty little dove…”

Touya moves aside to make way for Keigo as he slides up to kiss you once again. In the midst of it, you feel the blunt head of his cock push against your entrance. You won’t dare break from the kiss from Keigo and you blindly reach for Touya’s hand, which he takes and holds it gently. There’s more nudging against your pussy and you think of that song that you’ve heard circulating on the internet, a specific lyric that you think is a fitting theme for tonight: I wanna ruin our friendship.

You could change your mind, tell Keigo to get off you and make Touya back off as well.

“I’m going to put it in now, okay?”

But you won’t tell them to, you decided you want this.

You think of your come down from when you rolled last and how this is almost the same situation except that Keigo is the one to fuck you while Touya sits nearby with his cock in his hand. So you brace one hand on Keigo’s shoulder and widen your legs for him, looking between turquoise eyes of your boyfriend and the golden ones of your friend. “Take his cock doll, fulfill Keigo’s fantasy and let him wreck you.”

It must be Keigo’s eagerness to have been wanting to fuck you since you met because he wastes no time in pummeling his cock into you. He’s not as rough as Touya but there’s definitely enthusiasm in his movements, his eyes entranced on your tits as they bounce with the momentum of his thrusts. Touya has your hand on his cock and makes you jerk him off, calling you a pretty, dirty whore and you vocalize your agreements.

“Fuck she’s such a slut!” Keigo says more to himself rather than Touya. He grabs a handful of your hair in his hand and yanks it back, making you gasp as your neck is exposed and he leans forward to bite down on your soft flesh. This is everything he dreamed of and more, of course the real you is far better than the nights he spent imagining what you would be like with his dick in his hand. Touya is his friend and he always painted a pretty picture with his words whenever he felt like bragging about good at sex he was, which was all the fucking time, but Keigo knew that you were different the more Touya kept on referring back to you before the relationship was official, knowing more about your pussy first before actually learning about who you were.

Touya used to get nudes pretty frequently from some of his former whores, some quick spank material before deleting it but you were different. Whatever you sent to Touya, whether innocent or not so innocent, you got your own personal folder with your name on it and if he was feeling a little generous, he’d show his friend. So Keigo pretty much knew what you looked like naked by the time the two of you were introduced but you didn’t have to know that.

So here you are, naked and getting railed on his cock right with his very own eyes.

No more digital or imaginary substitutions, Keigo was getting the real thing now.

“Hands and knees, I want her sucking me off.”

Pushed into the desired position, your hands brace the armrest of the couch to steady yourself, seeing as you’re about to get fucked from both ends. Keigo’s hips slap against you in a steady and firm rhythm while Touya gags you on his cock. Fingernails dig into the surface of the couch and you strain to look up as you’re getting face fucked. Porn makes having a threesome look so easy and fluid but you’re struggling a little bit with the different rhythms from one end compared to the other. It’s hard to concentrate on sucking Touya off as Keigo fucks you from behind, neither one of them wanting to give you a break.

It’s a struggle but you don’t want to stop.

“Open your mouth wider.” Touya commands and you happily obey. His cock is soaked in your spit so it glides smoothly into your mouth and with practiced eased you deep throat him. Every thrust Keigo delivers, it makes you bump forward slightly but it doesn’t deter you from doing the best you can with a cock in your mouth. Their praises mix together and it makes you feel heady, you want to be good for them and hear more of ‘good girl’ and ‘that’s right songbird’.

And then Keigo yanks you away from Touya, laying flat on your back on the couch and he pushes back inside you with your legs pushed to your chest. You want to look into his eyes, take a dip in those honey-colored windows to his soul and hold his gaze while he practically ravages your pussy. You’re sure that his gaze is as intense as the fucking that he’s giving you, so intense that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and you can’t look him in the eyes like you want. So instead you’re fucked stupid by Keigo and can barely muster any praises back to him like ‘you fuck me so good’ and shit like that.

It’s okay because Touya can do the talking anyway.

“Look at you doll, looks like you’re losing it over his cock. You’re such a good little whore right now, you make me proud.” Touya strokes his cock in one hand while the other reaches down and lovingly strokes your hair. “You wanna let Keigo fuck you from now on? You wanna be with the both of us?”

“Wan’ you both… yes, want you two!” you groan out and reach one hand up to touch Touya’s wrist. “Ungh, fuck!”

“Shit, I’m going to cum!” Keigo hisses as he sloppily fucks into you before pulling out and cumming all over your tits. Warm splatters of liquid fall onto your chest as you cum as well, finally able to look at Keigo from your vantage point but disappointed that he didn’t cum inside you. “Fucking hell… baby bird…”

Ah, you’ve unlocked a new pet name.

There’s no break for you as Touya takes you back, sitting on the couch and putting you in his lap. You groan at the familiar stretch of his cock slipping inside you, you’re a leaking mess as Touya fucks his hips up into your pussy. You’re getting fucked in his lap, clutching onto his shoulders and moving in practiced sync. Normally you’d get lost looking into turquoise blue eyes but you look to the side to see Keigo leaning against the arm rest and catching his breath.

Touya’s hands cuff underneath your ass and gives support as you ride him, his mouth pressed into your neck as he gives you wet kisses all the while Keigo sits back and watches. It’s different and new and you’re not necessarily sure how this may turn out for you in the end. Your conversation from earlier rings in your mind and your mind sobers briefly at the recollection of it: “He feels you only deserve to get fucked by people who love you, those were his words.”

Love… you’re still trying to fathom it.

Wanting to just have sex was one thing, adding love into the mix was another. It should make you sit down and consider what the fallout may be but the thought of Touya being in love with you, being just too shy or obstinate to bare himself open, it made your heart flutter in the same way he wouldn’t allow you to call him Dabi anymore. And Keigo too, a selfish part of you wanted to indulge yourself silly on these two men who apparently didn’t like the idea of relinquishing you to just anyone.

Don’t be a whore for anyone else but us.

“Look here doll.”

You look away from Keigo and look to Touya instead, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him. Contrary to how he may seem, Touya loved to kiss you during sex. It drives him wild every single time, especially when you’d scrunch a handful of his hair in your hand and tugged on his roots. He curses at you and gives a sharp smack to your ass, a guttural growl rumbling in his chest as he asserts control over you. All you can do is manage to hold onto his shoulders as he presses you to sit back against the couch and fucks into your already sensitive pussy, so he’s not necessarily surprised when you cum on his cock. He reaches down to overstimulate you by toying with your clit and you practically lose it, sobbing as you cum more for him.

When you peer up at Touya, you can tell by the way his brows are pinched that he’s about to cum. You beg for him to cum inside you like he always does, you’re anticipating it. Instead he pulls out and makes you kneel on the floor, Keigo coming to his side with his cock in his hand; you hadn’t even realized that he got hard again. “Open wide sweetheart.” Touya tells you.

So you do, your eyes on the boys as the cum all over your face and your tits, mixed drops catching on your tongue as you’re coated in hot cum. When they’re both thoroughly tapped out, you smear it all over your chest and giggle how they both groan at the sight of you. “Mm… I loved it!”

“Glad you did baby bird.” Keigo leans down to kiss your temple while Touya kisses your cheek. “As pretty as you look with our cum all over you, why don’t you go wash up?”

No arguments there, dried cum isn’t exactly the greatest feeling in the world especially since you were showered in so much of it. So you get up and walk in the direction of the bathroom but turn back briefly and lean against the wall. “Hey.” you call out and they both look to you. “I’m happy that that we did this. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this, I want you to know that.”

You’re tempted to put out a simple ‘love you’ just to see what Touya’s reaction would be, but you think it’s best to not breach that subject for now. If it were still just you and him, then you probably would have put it out there but the addition of Keigo changes it a bit so you have to reevaluate the pace of the relationship. It’s a whole mess, that much is certain, but you want to stay with Touya. You wonder how much poking and prodding you can get from Keigo to reveal more. You feel a certain sense of pride that apparently he’s never devoted himself to anyone else until you came along, though if it weren’t for Keigo accidentally revealing such precious information then you never would have known in the first place, if not this soon in the relationship. For the time being, you just blow an air kiss and leave to go clean up.

Under the shower spray, you think hard about you, Touya and Keigo. “Eight girls… he used to see eight fucking girls!” you mutter to yourself. It sort of figures that Touya had that many whores but you had no clue that the number was so high before you came along. You still get mad when he comes to you smelling like them, you won’t even let him get near you unless he washes up first and he’ll always cater to you afterwards. Just because Keigo is included now doesn’t mean the jealousy won’t stop, it just means that now he provides a distraction when Touya goes out and wrestles with his commitment issues while balls deep in other girls.

But if what Keigo says is true that Touya loves you then you can hold out until you can draw that confession out of him.

━━━━✧

Part 3 of the Us Series: Do It For Me

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami x reader #dabi #todoroki touya #takami keigo #dabi smut #hawks smut #bnha x reader #bnha #tw drugs #us series

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violetrose-art · 3 years

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Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix· Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again· After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve· Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage… and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

#corpse bride #Tim Burton

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rika90 · 3 years

Text

Die Reise des Raben Chapter 2

Kaz Brekker x female reader

warnings: violence, death, swearing

word count: 2.8k

A/N: Hey, I'm back! Thank you so much for reading and liking chapter 1! Every like made my day. So here is the second part. Please tell me what you think.

When Kaz came to, he was completely disoriented. The last thing he could remember was a black figure that –. Kaz jumped up and looked around. No one to be seen. He collapsed back on the bed, his head was swimming. Everything came rushing back to him. The plague, Hertzoon, the scam and…Jordie. Kaz' whole body shook and he made a mad dash for the bathroom to retch. Afterwards he sank to the floor and took deep, calming breaths.

When he came back into the room, he noticed a small table next to the bed. There Kaz discovered dry clothes – was the sweater orange?! – as well as some food and water. He stared at the things; thoughts were racing in his head. There was no way the girl in the black coat had dragged him out of the harbour and brought him here. Why should she do such a thing? And then get him something to eat and drink? Nobody in the barrel does anything out of sheer friendliness, Kaz had learned that by now.

'Maybe she took me to her boss,' Kaz thought. The growl of his stomach tore him from his thoughts. No matter how and why he had ended up there, he would take the opportunity to strengthen himself and put on some dry clothes. After that he would tail out from here.

It was early afternoon when Kaz opened the door and peeked around the corner. He could hear muffled voices and the occasional shouting, but not a single person. He stepped out and slowly walked down the long hallway until he came to the stairwell. If he hadn’t known better, he would have guessed he was in one of the boarding houses in the barrel. His suspicion was confirmed when he got downstairs and saw a small reception desk.

The man behind the counter was reading a newspaper and didn't notice Kaz.

Kaz considered his options. He could go unnoticed or speak to the man and maybe find out something about the strange girl. Kaz sincerely hoped no one had seen the two of them enter the building yesterday.

"Excuse me, can you tell me who rented room 404?" Kaz asked.

The man lowered the newspaper. "Why should I tell you this, boy?"

"Well, I helped this girl home last night after a party but forgot to ask for her name. She's not in her room and I really need to see her again," Kaz groaned inwardly. He definitely still had to practice lying.

The man smiled lustfully and showed his rotten teeth. "Pretty thing, huh? It's a shame I wasn't on night duty yesterday."

Kaz shuddered.

The man looked at a list and said: "Mia Frey, it says here. The room was paid for two more days this morning. Hey, if you're lucky, she'll come back later."

"Okay, thanks," Kaz said and turned away. She wouldn't come back. She had left the key in the room when she left. Had she paid the two days for him? And was Mia Frey her real name anyway? Someone who walks around masked at night would hardly give their real name, would they?

Kaz still spent the day asking around if anyone knew Mia Frey. But, surprise, nobody knew her. But when he asked for a person with a raven mask, a barman advised him not to look for the Rabe.

"If you see him uninvited, you're as good as dead."

"Him?" Kaz asked.

"Well, no woman could ever slaughter an entire gang, “laughed the barman, then suddenly fell silent and looked around. "I shouldn't be talking about him at all. You never know who's listening," he muttered and went back to washing the glasses.

Kaz returned to the boarding house room that evening and found food and a note. She had been here! But how had she gotten into the room? He had kept the key with him the whole time. 'Apparently she is a contract killer, she’s probably able to pick a lock,' Kaz thought. He unfolded the note. 100 Kruge fell out. He picked it up and read the note on the slip of paper.

Stop looking for me. Don't make me regret saving your life. I can easily take it from you again. And buy yourself something decent to wear - you look terrible in orange.

- R

Kaz grinned, she had been watching him. Probably to silence him if he said too much. But he wasn't going to do that anyway. He wouldn't tell anyone about his encounter with Rabe. And he was pretty sure he wouldn't find her unless she wanted to. Still, he was sure that he would see her again. Perhaps one day she would come to collect his life debt, or she would

come to kill him at someone else's behest. Because what Kaz planned to do with his future would make him many enemies. The now well-known anger ran through Kaz. Pekka Rollins would pay. He would destroy him.

Brick by brick.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the years to come, (Y/N) watched from a distance as Kaz struggled and took on any job that made him money. Really anyone, no matter how dirty it was. He joined the Dregs, a small, insignificant gang, and quickly rose in ranks through his intelligence and ruthlessness. He gave the Dregs a standing and money. And build a reputation for himself.

Dirtyhands was quickly known as someone not to mess with. There wasn't much left to be seen of the frail boy (Y/N) had fished out of the harbour. Kaz Brekker had become a handsome man who could instil fear just by his demeanour.

The sun was just rising, and (Y/N) was sitting on 5th Harbour after a long night in the Ketterdam nightlife. It was already busy, and (Y/N) was amazed once again what Kaz had made of this neglected pier.

"Speaking of the devil," (Y/N) muttered when she saw none other than Kaz himself standing further down the docks talking to one of the captains. As always when she caught a glimpse of him, her breath caught. He was a real feast for the eyes. He always wore tailored suits, a hat, cane, and gloves. Gloves so he didn't have to touch anyone directly.

"Maybe you kept an eye on him a little more closely than planned," whispered a soft voice in (Y/N)'s head. She turned and headed home to get some sleep before her late night shift at the waffle shop.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had long since noticed the thugs who followed her. She walked briskly to lure them into a secluded back alley, where she could kill the guys without causing a stir. (Y/N) sighed. 'Couldn't one just enjoy their end of work in peace?' She had been on her way back from her late shift at the waffle shop when she realized she was being followed. That was the reason why she usually volunteered for the late shift. The other girls would be easy prey for the

smugglers and the rabble that hung around the barrel at night.

When (Y/N) turned into the dead end, she ran to the end and then turned to the five men in mock desperation. Her big brown eyes looked around with uncertainty and she certainly gave a very believable picture of the frightened girl the men expected.

"Well, Missy, what are you doing out here alone so late? Don't you know it's dangerous?" one of the men sneered. The others laughed.

'Just laugh. As long as you still can,' (Y/N) thought. With a fake tremble in her voice, she called out to the strangers: "What do you want from me?"

The men had to come a little further into the alley so she could be sure that no one escaped

and could talk about her. No loose ends. She wanted to keep her harmless and lowkey appearance.

"Oh, we'll take you to our boss and he'll sell you to one of the brothels. You can't withhold such a pretty ass from the world," (Y/N) inwardly rolled her eyes. The guys wouldn't be a great loss to humanity.

The apparent leader stretched out his hand to her, he was sure of his cause, and it never occurred to him that she might be able to defend herself. He made it almost a little too easy for her. A cold smile crept onto her face and in the last second before his death the man realized his fatal mistake. Like so many before him, he had underestimated her.

(Y/N) rammed her dagger right into his heart. Pulled it out again in a flash and threw it directly into the throat of the next guy. The first slumped lifelessly to the floor, the second grabbed his neck while blood ran from his mouth. (Y/N) used the moment of surprise and rammed the elbow into the face of the man closest to her so hard he went down groaning and passed out. The other two woke from their trance and came running towards her. A gun would be too loud and would only draw unnecessary attention. 'So old school,' (Y/N) thought. She dodged the men, ducked under them, and used her speed to get behind them. She kicked the bigger of the two in the back of the knee so he buckled down and then slit his

throat from behind. In the meantime, the last guy standing had realized the gravity of the situation and pulled a pistol.

"Game over, doll, our boss will –."

A shot echoed through the alley and the last man fell to the ground. (Y/N) put her revolver back in her pocket.

"Saints, how did you survive in the barrel for so long? First rule: don't hesitate. Men. Always loving to hear themselves talk," (Y/N) muttered as she stepped over the motionless body. She went to the man she had only knocked unconscious to end him too. No loose ends. As she passed, she pulled her dagger out of the neck of the guy who was staring up at her with wide, empty eyes and saw the mark of the Dime Lions on the lower neck.

'Shit,' (Y/N) thought.

That is when she noticed something was wrong. She could feel a tingling sensation on her neck. A clear sign she was being watched.

But where was her persecutor hiding?

She also took care of the last man, wiped her daggers clean on his shirt and let her gaze wander unobtrusively through the alley and over the roofs when she got up. Bingo. Something had moved on the roof. Hardly noticeable. (Y/N) put her daggers away and strolled towards the main road, then turned around in a flash and fired at the figure on the roof.

She had no hope of having fired a fatal shot – the target was too difficult to see for that. She heard a cry of pain that confirmed she at least hit them and simultaneously gave away their exact position. She had to hurry, even in the barrel shots did not go unnoticed for long. (Y/N) reloaded, finger on the trigger as a yell cut her off.

"Stop!"

(Y/N) whirled around; the hand that held the revolver still pointed at the figure on the roof. But in her other hand she was now holding one of her very long daggers and aimed it at the man who was standing a few meters away at the entry of the alley.

'Wow, twice in a day,' was (Y/N)'s only thought.

"I’d prefer you not killing my wraith. I am sure we can find a solution that everyone can live with."

There he stood, leaning on his cane, in his tailored suit, staring steadily at (Y/N).

Kaz fucking Brekker.

The only person (Y/N) would ever hesitate for, hoping he would never become one of her loose ends.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaz was a businessman, he seized opportunities when they presented themselves to him. This opportunity was too good to miss. Kaz had seen her before. Moreover, it would have been really hard not to notice her. She was tall, with long dark hair curling over her shoulders and brown eyes that seemed to see right into a person's core. She had a pretty face and curves that would surely have made Aunt Helen good money. But Kaz was sure that no brothel had yet counted her among its attractions. She walked through the barrel far too carefree for that.

It was strangely fascinating. She tried not to blend in with the crowd as to not attract attention. She walked the streets with seemingly innate self-confidence that gave her an aura of inviolability. She was someone to be noticed. That’s why Kaz had noticed the girl, when two drunk and howling men had followed her down a side alley. He had been tempted to follow them and help the girl, but if she walked through this part of Ketterdam alone at night, she was probably a lost cause anyway.

The next day the bodies of the two pigeons had been found dead and the girl had walked the streets without a scratch on herself. On the same day, Kaz had told Inej to gather information on her. Anne Reed worked as a waitress in one of the waffle shops from time to time, went out to party and occasionally visited her grandparents in the countryside. Except for the fact that she could keep pushy guys at bay with a good chin hook, she seemed like a perfectly normal girl.

And this very girl has just been followed by five Dime Lions. Kaz wanted to see what would happen. Inej was supposed to keep an eye on what was happening from the rooftop while he looked around the corner of the alley with a mirror. In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have expected what he would see then. She was amazing. She lured the men into the trap and then struck mercilessly. Within minutes all five Dime Lions were dead, and the girl was walking away as if nothing had happened. Kaz turned away to quickly disappear into one of the empty house entrances.

When he heard the shot followed by Inej's cry of pain, his heart almost stopped. How did she discover Inej? It was impossible. He ran back to the alley, knowing that the girl could kill Inej.

"Stop!" Kaz shouted and a second later found himself at the point of a sword – or abnormally long dagger? – again. He hadn't planned any further. The girl hesitated, although she had just said that one should never hesitate and looked at him with a mixture of surprise and anger. Kaz used her hesitation.

"I’d prefer you not killing my wraith. I am sure we can find a solution that everyone can live with," he emphasizes the word live.

"Then tell your wraith if she even thinks of throwing one of her knives, you're dead, Brekker. She should come down from the roof."

"Inej, dear, if you can walk, please come down to us," turning to the girl he continued: "You know me, that saves us the introductions. I'm here to make you an offer."

Kaz actually wanted to come up with a plan first and then try to recruit her for the Dregs. It is always better to negotiate when you have leverage. But he didn't have the time and luxury now. He had to use the only advantage he had. The fact that she hadn't killed him right away. Something made her hesitate. Whether it was his reputation or something else didn't matter. He would think about that later.

"Everyone in the barrel knows you and I am not interested in any offer from you," the girl replied coolly as she kept an eye on Inej, who was limping around the corner. 'Just a graze, she'll survive,' (Y/N) noted.

"We could use someone like you in the Dregs. You'd have a room, always enough food and the protection of the Dregs," Kaz continued undeterred.

"What makes you think I need anyone's protection?" she asked; looking from her dagger to Kaz.

"It is only a matter of time before Rollin misses his boys here and finds out that the girl, they were supposed to bring to him, is still walking merrily through the barrel. You messed with the Dime Lions. You are good, I admit, but you can hardly take on a whole gang alone. We can help you."

"Oh, and you do that out of the utmost charity? Hardly likely. What do you want in return?" (Y/N) asked him.

"You work for me. As I said, your talents come handy in certain jobs."

She gave him an unfathomable look. Kaz couldn't read any of her thoughts on her face. But when she lowered the sword, Kaz dared to hope he had convinced her.

"I'll think about it," she finally replied and left the alley.

@mcntsee

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows #six of crows x reader

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honestsycrets · 3 years

Text

The Phantom I: Think of Me | Ubbe x Reader x Ivar

❛ pairing | ivar x reader x ubbe

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | you're used to a life with the phantom. his company feels like home.

❛ tags | slight violence, phantom of the opera au, love triangles, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | this piece has been a long time coming. each chapter will be named according to soundtrack pieces. the introductory scene is probably reminiscent of the movie, i really want to recreate those feelings for me. @alicedopey

The Opera was loud today. Usually, the flutter of shoes downstairs, the rush to change costume, or the giggles from flirtatious girls was typical. Sigurd would lower backdrops as beautiful ballerinas crossed him, dreaming of life not as the keeper of backstage: but as a musician. He loved the dancing girls. You rushed down the stairs to the bottom floor and binding it with soft ribbons passing rich crimson curtains of the stage. Madame Gunnhild reprimanded you for your heavy steps, reminding you that this was not folk music. This was ballet. Powerful, yes. But not unnecessarily loud.

The only loud one was the star whose voice rattled the stage. Her presence incited the glamour of a fat cat. Not that she was plump; perhaps she would be happier, rather than hungrily scrounging and screaming and howling for more and more. Signora Stella was insatiable.

“It’s because someone is coming for tonight’s gala. She wants to make sure he knows who she is. Didn’t you hear?” Adeline whispered. “Bjorn sold the Opera.”

“Is that really true?” The dancers convened on the stage for a final run-through of the opera Hannibal. For which your pink gossamer silk slave piece so appropriately draped off your hips while she stood donned in gold and red, strutting around the stage.

“It’s not FAIR!” Her eye was squarely upon manager Halfdan. His soft eyebrows bundled together as she berated him with her latest complaint. At his side, his brother stood with his hand settled nicely into the taupe pocket of his slacks. You recognized them. Bjorn brought them in the deep quiet of dance rehearsals. Harald especially loved the dancers. He loved to watch them spin along the stage like a top.

“Signora,” Halfdan’s sweet voice consoled. You rushed around her stony body, her beautiful blonde hair wrought in delicate curls. “La mia Stella,” he crooned. There was a softness to the way his dirty blonde hair framed his gentle eyes.

“I am the star, me! Me, me, me!” her foot cracked down on the hardwood floor. She gestured toward your ruddy-haired friend, then you, biting out her complaint. “Not one of these-- these dancing girls can sing like I!”

“We know, Signora.”

“Then who dressed-- them?”

Harald crossed his arms over one another, glancing toward his boots. It could never just be the voice. It was an experience. For a man like Harald, whose artistic expression was about in line with that of a straw doll, it meant costume.

“You will be the focus. We will give you a solo. Just for you!”

“A new song?” she turned, the wheels of her brain suddenly spinning again. She ran her ringed hand down Halfdan’s pressed deep blue suit, drawing her ruby nails up to tap him on the nose. “What kind of song?”

“Think of Me,” said Harald.

“Think of Me!” she squawked. “That is perfect. Perfect for a girl like me! Can you imagine me-- a childhood lover-- in Paris?”

No, you couldn’t. Even Paris was too muted for her taste.

“Well?” she looked toward your group. “Get off my stage. Especially you,” she pointed her finger between Adeline and you. You’re not sure who she’s talking about. “Fat little frog.”

It’s better not to push. You take Adeline in one hand and, with the other, the sheer fabric. The orchestra wretched alive again as the awful vocalizations filled the auditorium, reverberating your ear. Think of Me never sounded worse.

Still, it must be nice, you think, to be an opera star by virtue of birth. Sour with embarrassment but saved by the prospect of dance, you delighted in knowing that Stella would soon leave after her songs were sung to a T. A woosh of air hair threw your hair over your shoulders. It was compounded by her harsh scream and filling the auditorium. You glanced from the floor to the upper stage where, if you looked closely, you might have seen a shadow flitting across the bridge with the aid of the banister.

“Up up up up! Get me OUT FROM UNDER HERE!”

“Sigurd!” Halfdan boomed. “What are you doing up there!?”

“I wasn’t up there.”

Your fingers left your locket when Sigurd hiked up the stairs beside you. His dark trousers were stained with paint, as was his crisp white dress shirt, pulled apart with a pretty blue smear across his chest. You peered over Sigurd to see the black drop clattered over Stella’s back, pressing her chest to the ground and chin quivering in horror.

“So it fell on its own?” Harald accused belligerently.

“I never said that. Signora. The Opera is full of strange magic.” he stood upright, helping her stand on quivering heels, shouting in awful pain. He quirked his head. “Oh, she won’t be able to perform on that.”

She jabs her finger into Harald’s chest, deliberately on his fine silk tie. Then Halfdan, whirling a curse. Stella squealed with renewed vigor. “You see what you’ve done! I hate you! I hate you! And I hate this-- this phantom!”

“Not that again,” Harald rolled his eyes.

The light in her eyes burst, soaring through the surface like an explosion across the surface. How awfully she punched him, shouting about his indignation in not paying the Phantom his salary-- before flitting down the steps on a beating heel. She would be back. Maybe not today, but another. Sigurd dragged the fallen backdrop to the side, inspecting the thick-cut rope and all its seeming imperfections.

“Can we reschedule for next week?” said one.

“We need a new star,” said the other. “Every day is the same.”

Adeline leaned her aquiline nose into your curls, “Do you think it was him?”

An awful warmth flooded your belly. Should you rejoice in a woman’s abuse? No, but at the same time, it meant she would not be here to berate the ballerinas. There was no one there.

“She can sing it for you, Harald.” At that moment, Madame Gunnhild hooked her arms under your arms. Harald turned on his boot to Gunnhild, a sultry smile playing on his lips. “What? Her?”

“No, Madame. Please.” You choked on your own words in the attempt to process what she meant. She wove her spindly fingers in your hand, jerking you toward the middle of the stage. For a moment, your heart seized to beat, blood ran still, and you might have fainted by the curiosity in the brothers’ eyes.

“Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “I know you can sing Think of Me. I’ve heard you sing with him.”

If you ever have a moment, spare a thought for me.

Your stomach leapt with uncertainty in the silence of the room. Outside, gossip ran like a bolt of lightning across the sky. Stella’s replacement was never a position you hoped to have. Not for a day, nor an hour but here you were, dabbing your lips with a pink product after intermission in your father’s old room. His picture sat framed by photos of your family: Thyri, Siggy, and him. Your hand trembled as you seized it. Then, falling away, you looked toward the letter that sat square in front of you.

“You have a letter from the Opera Ghost,” Gunnhild had said. Usually, those words would have inspired anyone with fear. Instead, it filled your belly with fervor, a soft pinkness that dusted over your cheeks soften than any blush you could apply. “Open it when you’re alone.”

You fluttered your eyes, hoping that the excitement in your belly was just a built-up from this corset that restricted your breathing. Breath swelled in your chest. You hooked a letter opener under the blotchy gold seal.

“Bellisima.”

The voice echoed through the room. Your physician Athelstan told you it was nothing: a figment of your imagination that you ought to hush about-- or they would send you away. Your angel was a kiss from God and nothing more. Your chest swelled with a heavy breath, fixing the earrings into your ear. They looked like the very stars that shone on the rooftop of the opera house. The voice filled the room, a soft sing-song that bounced from wall to wall and filled you with something like peace.

“Open it, my sweet.”

“It frightens me,” you murmured.

“Don’t be frightened.”

With a flick of your letter opener, you forced the crisp letter apart. In it, a square of parchment sat nestled between a glimmering gold chain. It was a glorious gold chain and, at the end of it, a singular heart locket. There was a knock at your door just as you inspected the inscription etched into its surface.

“May I come in?”

Whether or not you’d agree, Harald already came in. He was a man of tall stature despite his height. Wherever he carried himself, there was respect. You knew him to be in love with Gunnhild, and though she gave him no attention, you knew his intentions for her.

“Do you want to sit down?” you offered. Harald drew off his taupe jacket to figure with a tucked letter in his black breast coat. He held it out to you. You took it, bracelets jingling and saw that inside was a wealth of currency.

“Oh-- this is…” you murmured. “More than I can accept.”

“You knew the viscount, don’t you?”

The viscount Ragnar, you recall. Your cheeks warmed with his memory—a thin child with honey brown hair and a big heart. Harald kneeled before you, running his hand on top of your fluffy pink ball dress.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It has been a while,” you gesture to your photo of your father, reminded by the memory of the land you left behind in Scandinavia. “He probably wouldn’t remember me.”

“I’d wager you’re wrong. Put in a good word for us. He’ll be hard-pressed not to notice you,” he pauses. He rolled his finger through your long curl. It slipped away from his finger as he took his bunched-up suit jacket and opened the door. “As beautiful as you look tonight.”

“I-- thank you.”

The door clasps shut. You didn’t need this money, you murmured. But perhaps the children could use bread. Your attention fell to the necklace around your neck. If you turned the gold pendant over and over again between your fingertips, you could calm the racing of your heart. Today, you would be Elissa. Tomorrow, maybe a chorus girl once again. It was your time. The Ubbe from your memory was just that: a memory.

“Sing it again.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan

#ubbe x reader #ivar x reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader #ubbe ragnarsson x reader #vikings imagines #viking imagine #ubbe x reader x ivar #ivar x reader x ubbe #vikings/reader #ivar/reader #ubbe/reader

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 3 years

Text

Beyond the Sea of Pain

Day 3 of Jeankasa Week 2021: Family

AO3

A peaceful life for the girl who longed for love and the boy who gave her it.

Sasha Ackerman had never been one to pry. She carried her mother’s quiet, observant personality, or so her father said. Whenever conversations became for adults only, she excused herself, she never asked too many questions unless it was something that involved her loved ones.

Lately, Sasha had begun asking more questions, simply because most matters revolved around her mother, her mother and the child she carried. At seven years of age, Sasha knew a new baby implied many changes for the family. Both for her parents, and for her. Her whole life, everyone around her had gone to great lengths to make her happy, make her feel loved, and above all, to keep her safe.

All she was surrounded by were protectors: her grandmother who had taught her how to make the omelets her dad liked, uncle Armin and aunt Annie who came to visit the island with hundreds of presents each time, uncle Connie who bought her ice cream and candies whenever he babysat her, and uncle Levi with his perpetual frowns.

This would be the first time she had someone smaller than her, someone to take care of, someone to protect. Her mom had said in conversations she wanted three children, so Sasha had always known that sooner or later she would be the head of a triad of Ackerman children. She would be the eldest sister.

“Sasha, help me, please,” her mother called from the door. She was almost seven months in her pregnancy and still carried out her daily routine as usual. Her father had gotten angry at the beginning, when he caught her carrying things from the market on her own. But her mom was strong, stronger than her father even, and each time she had reassured him with a sweet smile that she could handle herself.

Sasha didn’t want to imagine the level of anxiety in her father during their first pregnancy.

“Where’s dad?” Her mother asked as they laid out the market bags on the kitchen counter. The queen of the island had given her parents a beautiful apartment in the new Shingashina district years ago, for helping bring peace to the world, although her mom always joked that all she and her father had done was work numbers in a library.

“He’s finishing up the baby’s room.” Sasha informed her mother, smiling at the sight of the chocolate biscuits she had bought for her. Her father always said that perhaps names came with traits. And Sasha had certainly inherited her namesake’s appetite.

“Have you helped?” Her mother asked, putting both hands on her waist. “He was up all night setting that crib. Did you paint with him?”

Sasha shook her head. “Dad didn’t let me.”

Her mother sighed. “That man needs to let other people help him.”

“Are you mad at him?” Sasha asked, kind of hoping she was. She had really wanted to help him paint the new baby’s room.

“I don’t think I can get mad at him,” her mother said, smiling as she wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Sasha put her hand on her mother’s belly, drawing in a breath in awe as she felt the baby moving. “The baby know it’s you saying hi. They’re saying hi back to you, you know.”

“Does the baby like me already?”

“The baby loves you, sweetheart.” Her mother replied, placing a kiss on her forehead. Sasha took a hold of her mother’s right arm, her fingers lingering on the ink markings on her wrists, the tattoo that had always been covered by bandages in the pictures from her time in the military.

“Mama, when am I going to get this?” she asked. A crease appeared between her eyebrows then, and for a moment, Sasha feared to have upset her. Her mother crouched to be at her height, with surprising grace despite her advanced pregnancy, and ran her thumb over her cheek.

“My mother gave it to me years ago. She said I had to pass it down to my children,” she said, her hand holding Sasha’s, which still lingered on the ink markings of her skin. “But back then, the world was smaller, honey. We thought this crest was the only thing we had left of our heritage when it wasn’t. There was a whole country beyond the island, and a huge clan with the same emblem and people who shared our blood.”

“That means I can’t get this marking?” Sasha said, feeling a little disappointed. Despite having her mother’s dark hair, she’d inherited her father’s structure; at her age, she was taller than most kids at school, and her eyes were of the same hazel as her father’s. The tattoo would’ve given her another thing in common with her mother, another thing to share that was just theirs.

Her mother seemed to notice the change in her expression, and she cradled her face with one hand. “You can decide to get it or not when you’re older. You’re still going to be my sweet little girl, whether you get it or not,” she said, kissing her cheek. “But I didn’t want to mark you with the emblem, at least not offer it until you became old enough to decide for yourself.”

“I wanted it to remember you,” Sasha replied shyly. “This is how you remember grandma, right?”

Her mother smiled, bringing her closer to embrace her. “You’ll be able to remember me in many, many more ways, Sasha darling,” she said, pulling her apart to face her before she continued speaking. “First of all, your dad and I are going to live for a long, long time. We’re going to take a million pictures, and your dad is going paint a thousand portraits of us. And when those are wrinkled and old, and you’re wrinkled and old, you’re still going to remember our love for you. Because you, dad, the baby, and I are going to live long lives together, okay? We’ll make memories together.”

Sasha nodded, wondering why her mother’s speech had filled her eyes with water. She passed a chubby hand across her face. “I love you, mama,” she said, hugging her again. “I swear, I’ll protect you and dad forever.”

“I love you so much, honey.” Her mother said. Her father always told her she didn’t need to protect them, but it seemed her mother understood her personality a little more in that regard. She understood that drive to protect and remember her loved ones, perhaps because Sasha was much like her.

“Want to go see how dad is doing with the room?” her mother said after a moment, with her usual smile.

Sasha held her mother’s hand as they walked to the baby’s room. The apartment would be small with another child. Their house would be finished in ten months; it had taken a while for his father to convince queen Historia to sell them that land by the river, and a little while longer for them to get all their financing for the house from Hizuru. Her mother had friends there, although Sasha had never met them in person. They would eventually move, Sasha was sure, but in the meantime, dad wanted to make their apartment as child friendly as possible.

“Hello, dad,” her mother said, knocking on the door threshold. They found him finishing up the far wall, the one next to the window. Sasha stared at the paintings on the walls, realizing why her father hadn’t let her help. She would’ve ruined the landscape he’d painted so thoroughly across the walls: it was their summer meadow, the one by the river, the place where they went most weekends to fish and eat and sing. The place that would be their new home in ten months.

Her father turned to look at them with a wide smile on his face. He was tall, taller than most, and had long hair and a stubble on his chin that itched when he kissed her cheeks. “Hello, darling,” her father said, walking up to her mother to give her a kiss on the lips. Then, he gave Sasha a kiss on the forehead. “Hello, little darling.”

And then, her father kissed her mother’s pregnant belly. “Hello, tiny darling.”

Her mother gave him one of those adoring smiles Sasha loved to see. Her mother was beautiful, the most beautiful woman ever, and when she smiled like that, Sasha almost thought she was looking at a doll. It was a look reserved only for dad; it had always seemed her eyes were full of sunlight when looking at him. “Jean, you shouldn’t have done all this.”

“What do you mean?” her dad asked. “Do you not like it.”

“I love it, honey. I absolutely adore it,” she said, grabbing his face to kiss his cheek. “But we’re moving at the end of the year, and you’ve barely slept…”

“You know I like doing this,” her father replied. “Besides, it’s so the baby can get used to the scenery before we get there.”

A low giggle escaped her mother. “Also, Sasha wanted to help you here.”

“She’s a kid, Mika. It was a lot of crouching, a lot of tracing, too much smell of paint,” he said, giving her mother another kiss. He was never shy about showing his love, but the closer she got to the end of the pregnancy, the more did her father kiss her. Sometimes it felt as if he kissed her every second of the day. “I didn’t want her to get all tired.”

“She’s strong, Jean,” her mom replied, smiling still. “She can help you out when I’m not here.”

“I’m sure she’s as strong as her mother,” he said, bending to kiss Sashas’s cheek and then her forehead. “I’m sorry, okay, little darling? I promise you’ll help with the next baby room.”

“Let me have this one first.” Her mom said with a low giggle. “Will you, lover boy?”

“I waited seven years for our second one, didn’t I?” Her father teased.

“Let’s not pretend you haven’t been trying for another one the past seven years, Kirstein.”

“You know I love trying for one, Ackerman.”

Sasha walked over to his set of paints, her eyes on the mixture of colors but her ears on their banter. She liked watching them go about life together; there was such an easy happiness between them, an easy, almost-perfect happiness that could only come from the love they had for each other. A love they poured onto her, a love that filled Sasha with happiness.

Sometimes, when she saw her mother smile at her father, she could barely believe she was the same woman as the one in the pictures from her days in the military. The woman in the pictures was stoic, untouchable, a perfect figure of strength, a statue with the sadness in her eyes as her most defining quality. Her mother, the Mikasa Ackerman Sasha knew, was all smiles, kisses, and kind words; she was low conversations about butterflies, she was warm hugs after a day at school, she was adoring looks for her father when he cooked dinner.

It’s not that her mom didn’t get sad every now and then. Of course, whenever they visited the graveyard where her namesake rested, or when she and her father spoke of the past in hushed whispers in the living room. But still, sadness was not all of her. Her mother had turned into sunlight, that’s the only way Sasha could describe it.

“Why are you frowning, sweetie?” Her father asked.

“You two are being corny again,” Sasha replied. “You’re doing your kissy faces.”

Her mother and father exchanged a look and a smile, and soon her father had lifted her into his arms. “Mikasa, we just made little Sasha jealous,” he said as he twirled her around. It didn’t take long for Sasha to start giggling. “She wants all the kisses to herself!”

“You are too corny! Your beard is itchy!” Sasha laughed. “Mom, help!”

Her mom took her from her father’s arms and gave her a thousand kisses on her cheeks and forehead in the lapse of a second. “All the kisses must be for my sweet little girl,” her mother teased. Her father took her back in his arms, not wanting her to carry Sasha’s full weight so far into the pregnancy. “She deserves them, don’t you think, Jean?”

“Yes, she does,” her dad agreed. “She is the best older sister in all of Paradis. Your little brother already adores you.”

“Or little sister.” Her mother said, giving Sasha another kiss and leaning into her dad to get a peck on the cheek from him.

“Or little sister.” Her dad agreed.

“When do we know?” Sasha asked. “When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“We need to wait until baby’s born,” her dad explained, using the paint on his thumb to draw a little white star on her cheek. “It won’t take long. We need to be really careful with mommy until the baby’s born, and then some more after.”

“Mommy is top priority,” Sasha agreed, nodding seriously. “Then after the birth, mom and baby will be top priority.”

Her dad chuckled and looked at her mom. “She really does take after you, doesn’t she, Mikasa?”

“I’d say she takes after you,” her mother said, tucking a strand of hair behind Sasha’s ear. “All that concern for my well-being could’ve only come from you.”

“How are we going to name the baby?” Sasha asked then.

“If it’s a girl, we’ve decided it’ll be Carla, right?” Her dad said, and her mother nodded.

“And if it’s a boy?” Sasha asked. Her father exchanged a look with her mother, both at a loss from her question. Sasha figured they hadn’t considered the possibility of having a boy, and the matter of a name for a boy hadn’t come up until now. She shook her head in exasperation; Aunt Annie called them a pair of idiots and although Sasha would never truly consider them a pair of idiots, she could see why she’d granted them that nickname.

“How about dinner?” Her mother said.

“I’ll get to it.” Her father said, kissing her mother again.

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and let out an exasperated sigh. “Jean, let us help you. Honey, nothing bad will happen to me. I can make dinner for three.”

“I’m sorry,” her father said, frowning, cradling her mother’s face in his hand. “You’re just so pretty. And I can’t believe you’re carrying our child sometimes. I don’t want you to lift a finger, I don’t want to risk you at all, Mikasa.”

“Jean,” her mother said, placing a kiss on his lips. “I love you and I promise I’ll be fine, alright?”

Her dad nodded. “I love you too, Mika.”

“You two are too corny,” Sasha said, jumping from her father’s arms and walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll just eat biscuits while you kiss.”

“Sasha, wait!” Her mother said.

“Young lady, do not fill up before dinner.” Her father called.

Sasha smiled for herself as they followed her into the kitchen. Part of her felt a little bad for interrupting, but if they’d kept being all lovey with each other, dinner would have taken ages. And Sasha cared more about her appetite than letting those two be lovey-dovey. Besides, those biscuits did smell great.

__________________________

It wasn’t until Sasha had gone to bed that Mikasa had the time to sort through the clothes for the new baby. Some had been sent by Levi and Armin, alongside letters promising to visit them after the baby came to help Jean with the house. Some had been made by her own hands; she’d learned knitting from her mother when she was a child, but she hadn’t gotten back to it until she’d met Jean’s mom. All the socks had been knitted by Jean, a fact of which he was proud about.

Mikasa smiled to herself. Of all the things he’d done for her, for them as a family, his biggest pride was that he’d managed to have time to knit a couple dozen pair of baby socks.

“We got a package from Hizuru this morning,” Jean informed her as he walked towards her across the hallway. “Who gives a baby a golden reliquary necklace?”

“Really rich royals.” She said, turning to look at him.

Jean made a disgusted sound as he sat next to her. He leaned his back against the couch and stretched, and Mikasa’s eyes were drawn to the muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. “Alright, that’s Sasha back asleep.”

“Was it a bad nightmare?”

Jean shook his head. “She keeps dreaming a giant baby’s chasing her.”

Mikasa snorted. “She’s just like you were when she was going to be born.”

“Hey, I wasn’t that nervous. I was just excited.” Jean said, grabbing her gently and bringing her close to his side. Mikasa hugged him, resting her head on his chest for a long moment. She took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of him, thankful for the constant beat of his heart, for his presence, for his immense love.

Her life had been quiet grief up until the moment they’d returned to the island. She’d never thought she would love anyone ever again as much as she’d loved Eren.

But, apparently, she’d been wrong.

The growth of her love for him had been the thawing of her life, slow but inevitable, leading surely towards what seemed to be an eternal spring. Her constricted heart had gotten used to his presence little by little after his return; in the deep darkness that the rumbling had left her in, Jean had offered his hand to her, and they’d spent peaceful, quiet, love-filled days together.

Their friends had been there for her, but it was his presence, their conversations, their time in silence together, what she came to enjoy the most, what she looked forward to. Soon after, she noticed his appearance, that stirring he caused in her chest. And next thing she knew, Mikasa had been looking at him with the same loving eyes as she’d looked at her first love.

She’d fallen without trying, without expecting to, but she’d fallen irrevocably. And now she couldn’t imagine her life without him, without his kind, gentle presence by her side, always so certain she had the answer to any issue, always so confident in her strength.

The fire, the hatred that had fueled her first love was nonexistent in him; Jean was peace, spring, he was the promise that the world could be rebuilt after being ablaze. And she loved him; she loved all of him, and the fact that he’d given her a child –two, now– had only deepened her love for him. She didn’t regret her past; she didn’t fear the horrible memories, not with him by her side.

“About the name if it’s a boy,” Mikasa said, looking up at him. “I was thinking Marco.”

Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I was thinking Eren.”

Now, it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. Just as he knew how much Eren had meant for her, Mikasa knew how much Marco had meant for him. “But I thought you would’ve wanted to honor him, because of your history together and—”

“I thought the same.” Jean said, brushing her hair back. He liked her hair; on their wedding night, he’d told her about how his crush on her had started, and Mikasa still liked hearing the story every now and then. “I thought you would’ve wanted to have a child with his name.”

“I thought you would’ve wanted to have a child with his name.”

Jean smiled again. “Well, great minds think alike, don’t they?”

“Jean,” Mikasa said seriously. “You’ve done so much for us already. If you were to pick the name, I don’t want you to pick one just because you think that’s what I want.”

“And I don’t want you to think I do all the things I do just to pick a name.”

Mikasa shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know. Come here.” Jean said. Mikasa finished closing the gap and their lips met. And, like every other time, her chest filled with warmth. She was drawn to him like a magnet was to metal; the comfort his skin offered was unparalleled by anything else she’d ever felt. True, she always teased that he’d been the one to try over and over again for a second child. But, in truth, the one who always seemed to want him on her was Mikasa herself.

“I still think Eren has a good ring to it.” Jean said after a while.

“He’s gonna get teased in school.” Mikasa said, thoughtfully. “What if he travels out of the island, Jean? People out of here don’t like that name. Have you given that idea any thought?”

“Maybe we could call him Aaron or something.”

Mikasa snorted. “You’re silly.”

“And you are gorgeous.” Jean said, kissing the side of her head.

“I still like Marco better for a name.” Mikasa admitted, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Ah, are you trying to seduce me to get me to agree?” Jean said, placing kisses along her neck, reaching the curve of her ear to whisper hoarsely. “Because it’s going to work wonders, and you know that, Mrs. Ackerman.”

“I’m not,” Mikasa giggled, letting him kiss her neck and chest a little longer. “I just think we need to make up our minds soon. It might be a boy, you know?”

“Why do I feel we won’t make up our minds?” Jean said, his hands searching for the buttons of her shirt.

“I have the same feeling.” Mikasa whispered back, working on the buttons of his shirt as well.

“Well, then, in that case I guess we have only one option.”

“Which is?” Mikasa said, straightening to look at him in the eyes. She enjoyed looking at his hazel eyes; she adored seeing his overflowing love for her in them. Once she’d started to recognize it, she hadn’t been able to keep herself from looking for it.

Jean smiled. “We hope for a girl.”

“Or twins,” Mikasa said as he resumed kissing her lips.

“Or twins.” Jean agreed, kissing her a little more.

“I love you, Jean.” She whispered, going to his ear to kiss him.

“I love you too, Mikasa.”

_______________________

Sasha brought out the tray and smiled proudly at the cookies. They all had perfect shapes, just as she wanted them. The clock on the wall told her she had a couple of hours to decorate and place all the snacks out on the table; her husband said he would be getting everyone from the airport, which was a whole hour and a half away from their small town, and her brother and sister would prepare everything in the garden for the party.

As the eldest sister, she’d always been the one to boss them around, to help them sort out their problems and protect them from whoever tried to bully them. However, the past four years, Marco and Carla (or Charlie, how Sasha liked to call her since her birth, twenty five years ago) had become more than helpful for the little matters she and her husband didn’t notice.

It’s not that they were fools, no. It’s just that they’d been prepared for one child only.

Little footsteps resonated across the hall, and Sasha smiled knowingly as the twins appeared, holding hands as usual, on the threshold of the kitchen. “Sora, Oliver,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, noticing the mud stains on their legs and faces. She crouched in front of them, using a piece of cloth to wipe the mud off Sora’s face. “Kids, weren’t you going to take a shower?”

“Where’s Jeanbo?” Oliver asked as she went to lean his cheeks.

“Huh?” Sasha replied.

“Jeanbo and Mika,” Sora said, pouting. “They were going to help us choose our clothes.”

Sasha straightened, putting her hands on her waist. “Does grandpa know you call him that?”

“He laughs!” Oliver replied, looking outraged.

“Those two spoil you guys too much,” Sasha replied, shaking her head. “You should be calling them grandma and grandpa. It’s disrespectful to call them by their names.”

“But Mika said it was alright!” Sora said, jumping a little in her spot. “She said it’s cute!”

Of course, her mother thought it was cute. She was the main culprit when it came to spoiling the twins. They were her first grandchildren, and neither of the two had inherited the Ackerman’s serious traits. It was all Jean’s, Sasha’s mother often said…from their cheeky smiles and hazel eyes to their loud, proud voices and talent to become the leaders of any group of children. Perhaps that was why her mother found them so incredibly adorable.

Although, to be fair, Sasha thought, they were incredibly adorable.

“Where are they, mama?” Oliver asked.

“They went out for a walk five minutes ago.” Sasha said, looking out the window. “Mom likes feeling the sun, and dad likes holding her while walking.”

Oliver and Sora exchanged an outraged look with each other, then looked up at her. Sasha couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight of their childish indignation. “They didn’t wait for us!” they exclaimed at the same time.

“Let them be, kiddos,” Sasha said, taking off her apron. Decorating the cookies would have to wait, maybe she could ask her father for help. He’d always been better with art, after all. “Those two will be with you all afternoon. Let them have their romantic time together, okay?”

Oliver and Sora smiled cheekily, showing her the two dimples on each of their cheeks. That one trait, they’d gotten from Sasha’s husband. She adored seeing that tiny part of him on their faces. “What is it, you two?”

“They’re always having romantic time, mama.” Oliver pointed out.

“That’s because they love each other very much.” Sasha said, walking forward. The two let go of each other’s hands and allowed her to stand between them, to hold their hands and lead them upstairs, where a warm bath waited for each.

“Have they always been like that, mama, all lovey-dovey?” Sora asked.

“As long as I remember, yes,” Sasha replied as they went up.

“Will they be like that forever?” Oliver asked then.

“I’m pretty sure. They’ve still got plenty of years ahead, don’t they?” Sasha said, and her children hummed yes in response, at the same time.

Sasha smiled; she’d grown to know their story gradually, how much they’d lost, all the sorrow, pain, and death, and all the light that had followed afterwards. Her mother and father had taken all the little broken pieces of their souls and created a kaleidoscope that reflected in beautiful rays of light in a myriad of colors upon their family. They’d created happiness out of sorrow, and they deserved so many more years together.

They deserved to live through the happy times, the sad times, to grow old together. They deserved to love each other, love their children, their grandchildren, their friends. The family that had bloomed from disaster and pain.

They deserved to live. They all did.

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